


Lamentations of a Vain Life

by ShadowMere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A LOT of canon divergence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Characters tagged when I know they're there, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, No character bashing, Origonal Male Character as Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Rebirth, like a lot, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowMere/pseuds/ShadowMere
Summary: One would think getting reborn as Harry Potter would be a straightforward experience, cursed fate aside. Getting reborn into an alternate universe, though, is not nearly so simple. This world is far from canon, but despite that, our hero doggedly pursues the canon events as if he can by will-power alone force his fate to change.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77





	1. Thus, It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be sporadic but I don't plan on abandoning this story. This is a mostly self-indulgent story because I couldn't find any stories like this I wanted to read so I decided to write my own.  
> This first chapter is mostly set-up and I didn't really edit so it might be a bit rough. If you find any typos, let me know and I will fix them!  
> I am a praise whore -- comments and kudos make the writing happen!

There is a thing to be said about magic, and that is that although it is a wonderfully extraordinary thing, it is often extraordinarily unpleasant. For example, starting your day as, say, a nineteen year old boy late to a college class in 2017 Arizona, and ending it as a one year old boy on a doorstep in 1981 England.

It took me a while to figure out where I was, of course, but when Petunia Dursley opened the door and looked at me, I realized approximately what had happened. Somehow, I’d ended up as Harry Potter.

That wasn’t so bad, I supposed. I could make some changes. I was familiar with how the story went; from the recognizable faces around me, it appeared to be the movie-verse, which was convenient. And I’d read enough fan-fiction to think I was prepared.

…I wasn’t.

No one tells you how excruciating it is to live as a child. They moan and bewail the curse of babyhood, but truth be told, babies have the memory retention of, well, babies, and my conscience may be imparted upon this toddler brain, but the fleshy bits don’t do what I want them to. So I slept through all the boring parts.

That was where I noticed the first change. In the books, the abuse Harry (me) received was never described completely, but it was implied that it began rather early: about four years old. So I grew, apprehensively waiting for the day I would officially begin my life as a glorified slave.

And it didn’t happen. And I thought maybe I’d gotten lucky, and my life would be alright.

And then school started.

And it was terrible.

You know that feeling you get when the teacher spends a week reviewing basics and you already know everything? Imagine being surrounded by six year olds still learning to read. Being taught that two plus two is four…and knowing that you have five more years of this. Needless to say, I was frustrated.

It’s not to say that the teachers didn’t try to move me ahead grades. They talked to Petunia and Vernon repeatedly. But Vernon refused to let them move me, pointing out that Dudley had the same education I had, and surely they must want to move him too. The teacher patiently explained that I was a ‘special case’ and that moving Duddlekins could ‘gravely impair his intellectual growth by overwhelming him too early.’ I wanted to point out that Duddlekins’ intellectual growth had been impaired the moment he’d been born to these parents, but I refrained.

So a year dragged by. Rather than an abrupt switch to slavedom, I was slowly given more and more household chores. I weeded the garden. I painted the fence. I cleaned the house with Petunia. I took up the cooking – much to my dismay.

I didn’t mind the work, really, but it started getting inconvenient. I needed time to plot. So one afternoon, with Dudley down the street playing with the Peckers boy and Vernon at his drill mine (or wherever he worked), I approached Petunia.

“Aunt Petunia,” I began in what I hoped was a patient and reasonable tone of voice (it’s hard to peg these things when you’re the stunted conscience of a twenty-six year old inside a seven year olds body).

She didn’t look up from her tabloids, where she was no doubt trying to catch up to with all the celebrity gossip. “What do you want, boy?”

“I was wondering if you and I could make a deal?”

She shot me a look that could have meant either ‘I’m listening’ or ‘I don’t make deals with devil spawn’. I assumed it was the first, and continued. “See, I’m not getting the education I need from school, so I was wondering if after I’m finished with my chores each day, I could go to the library until dinnertime.”

She frowned. “And what are you offering in return?”

“Oh, well,” I shrugged, “I won’t tell my teachers that you keep me in a cupboard for one. And I’ll try to keep the… freaky business to a minimum.”

Petunia’s face paled dramatically. For a moment, she looked like she was going to ask me something, then she pressed her lips harshly together. “Fine.” She forced out. “After you’re done with your chores you may go to the library. But don’t be late for dinner, and don’t do anything peculiar.” This last word was whispered with the venom of a lifetime of hatred and for a moment I almost didn’t pity her and her sad life.

I grinned and made a show of skipping out the door, waving merrily as I went, and disappeared down the lane. I had some things to learn.

Namely, hoarding any information I knew I wouldn’t be able to get at Hogwarts: Science, Biology, Advanced Mathematics, ‘Muggle’ History, Geography. Anything I could get my hands on and cram into my woefully underdeveloped seven-year-old brain.

At the library, I wandered to the non-fiction section and found a few books on advanced mathematics. The librarian gave me a few strange looks, and I ignored her. She didn’t have to spend eight mind-numbing hours being force-fed the principals of basic multiplication.

Unfortunately, advanced math’s were not something my seven-year-old flesh-brain wanted to concentrate on, and after a few hours I gave up and went home. It would be there again tomorrow, waiting to mock me.

^^^^^^^^^^

A year passed.

I learned how to plot trajectories and graph in three dimensions and other things that I probably wouldn’t have learned in college. I memorized chemical equations and the parts of complex cells and started learning some Latin. The librarian got used to me.

“What makes a young lad like you so inclined to spend your summers in the library?” She asked me once.

I shrugged and copied down a mammal classification key into one of my pilfered notebooks. “Sunlight is overrated.”

She raised an eyebrow and said nothing else.

It wasn’t until I was nine that she finally asked about my parents.

“They’re dead.” I told her bluntly. Children were forgiven tactlessness, right? “I live with my aunt and uncle.”

She frowned softly, a look of maternal concern in her eyes. “And they treat you alright?” She prompted.

“They treat me as well they’re able.” I told her. And it was true; they treated me as well as they were able, considering their hearts were shriveled pieces of compassionless coal with moral compasses so broken they locked toddlers in closets for the crime of being hungry enough to cry. But I didn’t hold it against them, honest.

My answer, all the untold truth of it, seemed to placate the librarian and she didn’t ask me about my family again. And I was happy for it.

^^^^^^^^^^

The next major landmark in my life was one I was reasonably familiar with: Duddlekin’s eleventh birthday.

I woke up the same way I often did, with Petunia knocking loudly on my cupboard door.

“Get up and cook breakfast, boy.” She told me through the door, her shrill voice stabbing into my sleep-fogged head like a piccolo funeral dirge being played by the personification of a hangover.

I got up and wandered into the kitchen, still sleepy.

“Don’t burn the bacon, I want everything to be perfect for Dudley’s special day.” She ordered me.

Dudley’s special day. Dudley’s birthday, I realized with a jolt of adrenaline. I tossed bacon into a pan and began frying it. That was today, was it? I wondered if I’d still get to go to the zoo with them.

Oh boy, the zoo.

I hated zoos. At least there was the possibility of a snake.

I’d talked to a few garden snakes while weeding, but most of them didn’t have anything particularly interesting to say. It mostly went the same.

:Speaker! Speaker! Hello Speaker:

:Hello little snake, do you have a name?:

:Does the Speaker want a juicy rat? I have many juicy rats!:

:No thank you. I’d like to know your name.:

:I like juicy rats. The Speaker does not like juicy rats?:

:No, the Speaker doesn’t eat rats. What’s your name, little one?:

:I don’t have a name. Goodbye, Speaker. May we meet again in the rat-filled Paradise beyond the second sleep.:

Apparently snakes were religious. Who would have thought.

“The bacon, boy!” Petunia’s shriek cut through my musings, and I quickly lifted the pan off the heat. I inspected its contents. The bacon was a bit singed, but it would be fine.

“It’s not burnt,” I called back to her.

I could feel her disapproval radiating from the living-room and I ignored it. It was a superpower I’d developed over the years.

The table was covered with all Dudley’s presents, and I idly wondered how many of them were from Aunt Marge the Barge. It was no secret Vernon’s job was middle-class at best. He couldn’t exactly afford what looked like a new computer, a second television set, and a racing bike.

I was frying the eggs by the time Duddlekins made his way downstairs. He grunted at me by way of greeting and immediately sat at the table to count his hoard.

I was surprised he knew how to count, honestly, but I refrained from making my observation.

“Thirty six,” Dudley said. He sounded horribly disappointed. “That’s two less than I got last year.”

“Sweetie, you haven’t counted this one from Uncle Vick, right here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy.” Petunia lifted the present from its hiding spot with an encouraging smile.

“Alright, thirty seven then.” Dudley muttered.

“What’s all this, my boy? Not happy with your haul are you, you little tyke?” Vernon chuckled as he walked in. He ruffled Duddlekin’s hair. “That’s my boy, always wanting the best.”

How anyone could sound so proud of what was basically a semi-sentient pile of lard escaped me.

“You haven’t counted my present either,” I told Dudley as I set the food on the table.

He eyed me suspiciously. “You got me a present?”

Petunia and Vernon also gave me suspicious looks. I wasn’t sure whether or not to feel offended. “Yep.” I told Dudley. “It’s in my cupboard, let me go get it.”

I headed to my cupboard. I actually did have a present for him, though I doubted he’d appreciate it. In my defense, I was still trying tentatively to befriend him. It wasn’t going well, but I did my best.

I grabbed the shoddily wrapped package from where it was sitting on my shelf and headed back to the table.

In the minute I was gone, Dudley had eaten all the bacon. I wasn’t all that surprised. I handed him my present.

“Now you have thirty-eight, just like last year.” I said helpfully.

He stared at the package. It was wrapped in homemade wrapping paper, covered in my drawings, and looked rather festive with all its different colors.

“Well, sweetie, why don’t you open it and see what Harry got you?” Petunia said, trying to sound pleasant and failing rather spectacularly.

Dudley obediently tore the paper away and pulled out an old, worn book of fairy tales.

“Fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm.” He read. “A book.” He looked stupidly at me.

“It’s a picture book.” I muttered, and took a bite of my eggs. It wasn’t my best work, all things considering, but I’d had four years to practice drawing and countless hours at the library with plenty of access to informative books about art.

He flipped through it and his eyes lit up, to my surprise. “It’s got gory pictures in it!” He declared happily. “Thanks, Harry!”

Petunia and Vernon cast me twin looks of fearful disgust. We were at an impasse, I could tell. On one hand, they couldn’t take my gift away because Dudley liked it, but on the other hand both were loath to let him keep it. Petunia also looked a little surprised. Dudley usually turned his nose up at books of any sort, whatever the pictures.

The phone rang suddenly, and Petunia got up to answer it.

While she was away Dudley opened the rest of his presents and I ate more eggs than I probably would have been allowed to.

When she got back, she looked worried. “Bad news, Vernon. Ms. Figgs broke her leg and can’t take care of Harry.”

Dudley looked horrified.

Vernon looked horrified.

It was almost comical.

“We could phone Marge,” he said desperately.

Petunia shook her head. “She hates the boy.”

“What about your friend, what’s her name, Yvonne?”

“On vacation to Majorca.”

“You could leave me here,” I inserted happily.

Petunia looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. “And come back to find the house in ruins? Absolutely not!”

Vernon glared at me as if Ms. Figg’s accident had been my fault. He tugged at his moustache. “We’ll have to bring him with us.” He said reluctantly.

Dudley’s mouth fell open and he looked at me with horror. His face screwed up and he began to cry. “I – I-don’t- I don’t wa-a-ant him to c-come!” He wailed, and Petunia rushed to hug him.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she soothed, “but there’s no other choice.”

The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of the guests, and Dudley stopped crying immediately.

Half an hour later, I was sitting in the back of the Dursley’s car with Dudley and the Peckers boy – whose name, I discovered, was actually Piers Polkiss, so his status as the Peckers boy was, in fact, false – on the way to the zoo.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was quite full. We walked for a good while and I ignored everything that was going on. It was too crowded for me to really enjoy myself, and as it had been fifteen years since the last time I’d been somewhere so busy, I was a bit overwhelmed by the whole ordeal besides.

After lunch, we made our way to the reptile house. Dudley quickly made his way to the biggest snake there, some sort of a Brazilian python. It was curled up fast asleep.

Dudley pounded the glass, trying to make it move.

I shuffled in front of the tank, peering intently at the snake. It was probably bored out of its mind. I hoped it would be slightly more interesting than the garden snakes, but I knew better than to assume greater size meant greater intelligence. Dudley, after all, was four times my size and less intelligent than me by the same multiplier.

The snake raised its head suddenly and looked at me.

Then it winked.

I stared at it for a moment, then glanced at the others to see if they were watching. They weren’t.

The snake tilted its head at them and very clearly rolled its eyes.

:I know,: I murmured to it, :It must be really annoying,:

It nodded its head vigorously.

“DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!”

The yell startled me and I jumped away from the snake tank. The snake looked rather affronted.

Dudley came waddling over as fast as he could. “Out of the way,” he grunted at me, shoving me. I obligingly allowed myself to topple over onto the ground.

What happened next happened very quickly, and I almost didn’t see what happened. One minute Piers and Dudley were leaning against the glass, the next moment they both leapt back as quickly as they could.

The glass had vanished.

The great snake rapidly uncoiled itself and began slithering out onto the floor. Petunia scrambled back and let out a quiet scream. The commotion attracted the attention of the other visitors in the reptile house, and people began screaming and running for the exits.

:Brazil, here I come…thanks amigo: The snake hissed at me as it slithered past.

I hid a smile.

The week I spent locked in the cupboard was well worth it, in my opinion.

July arrived with worrying suddenness and a horrible sense of anticipation. Every morning, I waited anxiously for the mail to arrive and bring with it the letter that would decide my fate.

There was, of course, an off chance that this was an alternate timeline in which I, Harry Potter, was not going to Hogwarts. But I figured the odds were in my favor.

There was an exciting clatter in the mail slot as I helped Aunt Petunia put breakfast on the table one morning. Duddlekins and Vernon the Walrus were already sitting at the table, the former staring avidly at the telly, the latter buried in the newspaper, his horrid mustache bristling at some injustice of print.

“Dudley, get the mail.” He grunted as I put bacon on the table and sat down.

“Make Harry get it!” Dudley protested.

“Get the mail, brat.”

“Make Duddlekins get it!”

“Poke him with your smelting stick, Dudley.”

I dodged the smelting stick and headed to the door, trying not to be too excited, but my eleven year old body was full of adrenaline anyway.

Three things lay on the doormat. One was a postcard from Aunt Marge the Magnificent, a custom one judging by the unflattering photo of her in her flashy – and unkindly revealing – circus outfit, her two trained monkeys on her shoulders. The second item was a brown envelope that was probably a bill. And the third – here my heart skipped a beat and a half – was a creamy yellowish envelope addressed to a Mr. Harry Potter.

Well, well. What have we here? I picked up the mail and headed back to the living room, pocketing my letter and handing the other two to the Walrus. Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes at me as I sat down and I gave her as guileless a look as I could muster.

Probably too guileless, I decided, as Petunia said in a sweet voice, “Harry, what have you got in your pocket?”

“A ring,” I muttered quietly, unable to resist.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Harry,” Her voice turned sharp. “Show me what you put in your pocket as you were walking in.”

I sighed and pulled the letter out of my pocket. I held it up so she could see that it was addressed to me. “It’s a letter. And it’s mine.”

I made to put it back in my pocket, but something in Petunia’s face had hardened. “Give that letter to me, boy.”

I stared at her for a moment. How could she know what it was?

Wordlessly, I handed it over. It wasn’t going to matter in the long run anyway. I would end up at Hogwarts one way or another.

She tore it open and pulled out the paper. After taking a moment to scan it, she turned to Vernon. “Vern, it’s from…” she cast a look at Dudley and myself, who were both watching her aptly, “that place.” She hissed.

Vernon’s face turned a blotchy red. “You said we wouldn’t have any of that nonsense in this house!” He barked, then turned his beady eyes on us. “Freak, get into your cupboard. Dudley, why don’t you go into the living room and watch the telly while your mother and I have a little chat?”

“I don’t wanna go!” Duddlekins protested predictably.

I stood up and headed out of the room, not bothering to point out that none of us had eaten yet. Duddlekins could do with a few skipped meals. My stomach growled at me to remind me that I myself could not, and I ignored it as I crawled into my cupboard to wait.

After fifteen minutes or so, the cupboard door was opened by a nervous looking Walrus. “Erm, boy,” He began, his large mustache wiggling comically, “about this cupboard – your aunt and I have been thinking… you’re getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”

“I won’t.”

“What?”

“I’m not leaving the cupboard.” I frowned at him.

This seemed to leave Vernon at a temporary loss for words. “Not – leaving – the cupboard?” He repeated.

“No.” I stated firmly. I liked this cupboard. It was cozy and smelled like pine boards. Dudley’s second bedroom smelled like old socks and reminded me painfully of my college roommate, Marvin, who had been both a pothead and a vegan.

“You ungrateful little…!” Vernon began to roar and I closed the cupboard door in his face.

I heard the door lock and sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

The next morning, Vernon sent Dudley to get the mail. Duddlekins tried to protest, but a hard look from Petunia quelled him.

There was another letter, which Petunia snatched from Dudley immediately.

“But that’s my letter!” I protested.

She glared at me. “It was sent to you by mistake.”

“It has my cupboard on it!”

Petunia’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Let me read it!” I tried to grab the letter from her, just for fun.

She smacked me across the face, hard enough to sting. “That’s enough. You may not read this letter and if you keep trying, I’ll revoke your library privileges.”

I tried to decide whether it was worth it, and decided it wasn’t. Sulkily, I ate my dry oatmeal and cast longing glances at the platter of bacon.

^^^^^^^^^^

This pattern of letter delivery and theft continued for several days. Each day, the number of letters increased, and with it, Vernon’s nervousness. Petunia didn’t seem to care that there were more letters. She kept hiding them away and I wondered briefly what she would do with them once I was gone.

Then Sunday arrived and Vernon was positively dancing with glee. “No post on Sunday!” He exclaimed brightly at the breakfast table.

I ignored him in favor stealing bacon off Dudley’s plate while he was distracted watching the kitchen telly.

Petunia gave me an annoyed look as I ate my pilfered food, and I gave her a blithe smile in return. She made a small, irritated noise.

It was at this moment there was a terrible noise in the chimney. We all turned and watched, with varying degrees of horror, as a few letters flew out, and then a few more, and then all at once a great torrent of fifty or sixty, flying about the room like huge, awful paper moths. Vernon jumped from his seat and began trying to grab them.

I stole more bacon from Duddlekins’ plate.

After all the letters settled to the floor, looking like so much giant confetti, Vernon spun and saw me eating bacon. “You!” He roared. “Out! All of you, out! We’re leaving!”

He grabbed me and hauled me into the hall, tossing me unsteadily at my cupboard. “Pack some clothes. Pet; Dudley, do the same. Meet back in the hall in five minutes. No arguments!”

I didn’t have a suitcase to put my things in, so I made do with a book bag one of the librarians had given me because it had had a hole in the bottom. I’d repaired the hole and now made short work of stuffing all my grey, oversized clothes into it. Everything I owned fit into it pretty well and I made it into the front hall just as Petunia and Dudley came down the stairs lugging large suitcases. Vernon was already in the hall, nervously twitching his mustache.

We loaded into the car silently. We drove in equal silence. Dudley seemed shell-shocked, probably because Vernon had refused to let him bring any of his toys or his portable telly. Petunia looked pale and her lips were in a now-familiar tight line. Vernon was shaky and kept checking the rear view mirror.

We drove… and drove… and drove.

Finally, we stopped outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. I shared a room with Duddlekins, who snored as I sat awake and stared out the window, wondering if tomorrow and the next day would go exactly according to canon and if I would be able to save peoples’ lives and if…

^^^^^^^^^^

We ate stale cornflakes and toast for breakfast and as we were about to leave, the desk clerk approached us.

“Is one of you a Mr. H. Potter?”

“I am,” I raised my hand.

“Well, I got about a hundred of these addressed to you, kid.” She held up a letter with the address:  
MR. H. POTTER  
ROOM 17  
RAILVIEW HOTEL  
COKEWORTH

Vernon’s face paled. “I’ll take care of them.” He followed the clerk.

A few minutes later, he came back and we all trailed silently after him to the car.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just go home, dear?” Petunia suggested timidly, hours later.

Vernon didn’t seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of us knew, although I was pretty sure of our destination.

Sure enough, after many more hours in the car, we stopped on the coast. Vernon locked us in the car and disappeared. It started to rain.

About an hour later, just as Dudley was starting to complain, Vernon appeared again and he was smiling. He had a long, thin package that he didn’t tell us what was. “Come on,” he said, “everyone out!”

Duddlekins grumbled about the rain, and Petunia fretted about the mud.

Vernon pointed to a large rock off the coast, upon which could be seen sitting a small shack.

Petunia’s face turned grey. “Vernon, you can’t be serious.” She hissed.

Vernon grinned jovially. “This old man has kindly agreed to lend us his boat.” He gestured to an ancient, toothless man. The man pointed, with a rather wicked grin, to a rickety rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

“All aboard!” Vernon said and headed to the boat with mad cheerfulness.

It was a cold, miserable ride to the shack. It was cold and miserable inside the shack, too, and it smelled of seaweed. There were only two rooms.

Vernon tried to start a fire, but the wood was wet and simply smoked. After a few tries, he succeeded only in filling the room with nasty smoke, and he gave up.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around us. Spray from the high winds splattered the walls of the hut and the wind rattled the filthy windows. Petunia found a few blankets and made up a bed for Duddlekins on the moth-eaten sofa. Then she and Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door.

I settled reluctantly on the hard dirt floor. In a few hours, judging by the time on Dudley’s lighted watch, I’d be ‘eleven’. Technically, I’d be more like thirty-three.

Technically, technically, I’d be negative eight, because I hadn’t been born yet.

I realized with a jolt that a version of me might still be born in this world, and wondered how hard it would be to get to Arizona to check for my alternate self after I graduated Hogwarts.

I occupied myself with thoughts like this for the next few hours, part of me waiting excitedly to hear the THUD of Hagrid arriving.

Five minutes to go, and was that the creaking of the roof or of our unexpected guest?

Four minutes to go, and I absentmindedly drew a birthday cake in the dust. Hagrid was bringing a cake with him and I, having not eaten since breakfast, was eagerly anticipating it.

Three minutes, and that was probably the waves crashing on the rock, but my brain said it was heavy footsteps. And (two minutes) the crunching of gravel had to be imagined.

There was no way I could hear these things with the wind screeching and the thunder cracking so loudly it was drowning out Duddlekins’ snores.

Thirty seconds. I briefly considered counting down.

Ten…nine…eight…seven…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered. He was early.


	2. Stepping Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes his way from the shack to Gringotts, with a few surprises along the way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating already! Happy finals week everyone  
> I rushed this one a bit so it's shorter than chapter one -- sorry. If you find any typos let me know  
> I'm a praise whore -- comments and kudos make the writing happen! Thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, and or bookmarked! It literally made my week <3
> 
> *This chapter has a brief mention/implication of child abuse in reference to Harry's stay at the Dursleys

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake. “Where’s the cannon?” He mumbled.

There was a crash and Vernon came skidding into the room, clutching a shotgun in his hands. “Who’s there?” He called. “I’m warning you – I’m armed!”

There was a pause, then –

SMASH!

The door burst off its hinges and with a deafening crash, landed flat on the floor.

A tall, thin man was standing in the doorway, silhouetted against a conveniently dramatic lightning strike. His robes billowed in the wind.

It wasn’t Hagrid.

In fact, if I hadn’t known better, I would have said it was Snape. But Snape had long hair and this man, whoever he was, didn’t.

The man stepped into the hut, stopping briefly to pick the door up and set it back against the frame, and moved purposefully toward the couch, where Dudley cowered.

“Move.” He said simply.

Dudley squeaked in fear and ran to cower instead behind Vernon, who, it should be noted, looked rather unusually unsure of himself in the face of this stranger’s confidence.

The stranger turned to me, and a look of unease flashed across his face. I was sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor, still wrapped in a moldy blanket, which I assume was what caused the concern.

“Harry, isn’t it?” He asked.

I nodded. I still didn’t know who this person was, which meant things were already changing from canon. Which meant I was probably doomed.

He nodded. “Last time I saw you, you were only a baby.” The look on his face was vaguely unsettling. “You have your mother’s eyes.”

I tried to figure out who this could possibly be. An OC? No, I was thinking as if this was fan-fiction. It had to be someone from canon. Regulus Black, maybe? But wasn’t he dead?

Vernon made a funny rasping sound. “I demand you leave at once!” He said. “You are breaking and entering!”

“Shut up, Dursley, you great prune,” the man snapped. He reached over the back of the couch and took the gun from Vernon’s limp hands. In two fluid steps, he reached the door, and in a single, equally fluid motion, he moved the door and threw the gun out into the raging water.

Vernon stared with a reasonable impression of a beached whale. He was even the approximate shape. He made another funny noise, like that of a mouse being stepped on.

I watched the scene unfold, getting more impressed by the moment. Whoever this person was, he was filling Hagrid’s role marvelously well.

“Anyways – Harry,” the man said, turning back to me. “Happy birthday, and all that. I have something for you, from myself and a few other friends of your father’s. We thought it suited the occasion.” He pulled a box from his robes and handed it to me.

I took it and opened it tentatively.

Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake, reasonably well made. It had the words _Happy Birthday, Harry_ written on it in green icing.

I looked at the stranger. “Thank you,” I managed, before blurting out in a rush, “and who exactly are you?”

The man smiled thinly. “My name is Severus Snape; I’m a professor at Hogwarts.” He offered his hand, and it took me a solid minute of processing before I shook it awkwardly.

Severus Snape.

It was Snape.

Snape.

_Snape._

And he had short hair.

_SNAPE._

But, as appalled as I was at seeing my least favorite character from all of canon, ignoring Umbridge, he seemed to be decent in this alternate universe.

“How about some tea, then?” Snape said, moving to examine the fireplace.

What was _Snape_ doing here? Where was his hair? Why had he brought me _cake_? Where was Hagrid?

Snape bent over the fireplace. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but he drew back a moment later and there was a roaring fire before him. The warmth washed over the shack like an actual wave. Then he sat down on the sofa and began pulling all sorts of things from his pockets: a copper kettle, a package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several mugs, and a gold-colored tin of loose tea. He set about making tea, and soon the shack was filled with the sounds and smells of sizzling sausages and bitter tea boiling.

No one said anything as he was working, but as the first set of fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages were slid off the poker, Duddlekins let out a sort of whimper, and I remembered that he hadn’t had anything to eat either. I felt a stab of faint pity for him, the sort of pity that never leads to any sort of action.

“Don’t touch anything he offers you, Dudley,” Petunia said sharply, and Snape chuckled darkly.

“Your great pudding of a child doesn’t need any more fattening, Petunia, don’t worry.”

He passed the sausages to me, and I was hungry enough that they tasted like heaven. A few silent moments were spent as he and I ate.

Finally, because no one seemed to be talking, I decided to ask what I figured the expected question would be. “Erm, what, exactly, is Hogwarts? Does it have anything to do with all the strange letters I’ve been getting?” It was a bit clunky of a question, but it worked.

“Lett – you haven’t opened them?”

“Er, no. Sorry.”

“It’s not you that should be apologizing.” He turned to Vernon. “You haven’t told him _anything_? About Hogwarts, about his parents, about _anything?_ ” He got steadily angrier, until his voice was a deadly hiss that could barely be heard above the storm.

“Er, sorry again, but I do know my parents died in a car crash.” I said. That was an alright thing, surely. Petunia had told me it enough times that it would be a fact expected to be regurgitated.

Snape stared silently at me for a moment. It occurred to me that I had skipped a good bit ahead in the script for this scene.

Finally, he turned to Petunia. “You told him James and Lily Potter died in a car crash. As if a _car crash_ could kill – ” He cut himself off and turned back to me. He was doing a lot of swiveling. I wondered if I should move to make things easier on his neck.

He pulled a familiar looking letter out of his pocket and handed it to me. “You should have gotten this a week ago, but better late than never I suppose.”

I opened the letter and scanned it. Blah, blah, accepted into Hogwarts, send letter, buy stuff, blah, blah. I looked back up at Snape expectantly. “Er, what does this mean?”

“You’re a wizard, Harry.” He said the famous line rather anticlimactically. “And so were your parents. Your aunt really should have come up with a more creative story concerning their death.” This seemed like a rather callous statement about a child’s parents’ deaths, so I guessed Snape wasn’t so much different after all. A hair cut can only fix so much of a personality.

“It wasn’t my fault they went and got themselves blown up by some Dark Lord,” Petunia snapped.

“Dark Lord?” I asked eagerly. Were they really going to cover all that so soon?

“That is a conversation we must have, but here is neither the time nor the place. Now, your attendance at Hogwarts is of course not in question,” he cast a hard look at the Dursley’s as he said this, “so I will step out briefly to inform the Headmaster.” With this, he disappeared out the hut door.

Vernon stared at me like I was some vermin. I stared back, slowly sipping my bitter tea.

Snape reappeared, slightly more damp. “Now, where was I?’

Vernon seemed to have gathered his courage, and he stepped forward suddenly. “He’s not going,” he said. “I will not have him traipsing off to some _wizard school._ We swore we’d stomp out that nonsense! I will not _have it_!”

“As if a Muggle like you could stop me?” Snape asked silkily. “Harry _will_ go to Hogwarts, you know he must.”

“What’s a Muggle?” I asked, so I could have a reason to know it later on.

“A non-magical person.” Snape replied, not taking his eyes off Vernon.

“A load of rubbish!” Vernon snorted, glaring at me with his hands clenched in fists. “I accept there’s something strange about you – no doubt nothing a good beating wouldn’t have fixed,” (a lie, unless he and I had very different ideas of what constituted as a ‘good beating’) “and as for this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them, in my opinion – asked for all they got, getting mixed up in all those wizarding types – just what I expected, always knew they’d come to a sticky end…”

At that moment, Snape leapt from the sofa and spun to face Vernon, his wand in his hand. “I’m warning you, Mr. Dursley, one more word …”

Vernon shrank against the wall, staring at the wand like it was a venomous snake.

Snape turned back to me. “Now, we’ve much to do tomorrow and it’s already quite late.” With a wave of his wand, the sofa turned into a pair of thin mattresses furnished with comfy blankets and soft pillows. He gave the Dursley’s one last dark look. “We’d all be best off going to bed.”

The Dursley’s shuffled back into the other room, Vernon quaking in fear, Dudley trembling, and Petunia looking oddly thoughtful.

^^^^^^^^^^

The next morning, I woke up with the sun streaming into my eyes. I blinked blearily a few times. The storm appeared to be over, which was a relief, and the hut was warm thanks to the bed of coals in the fireplace.

There came a tapping at the window, and I sat up.

Snape was awake. He looked at me with that same strange, almost concerned expression, before speaking. “Now that you’re up, I’d like to be off as soon as possible, if you don’t mind.”

I nodded and stood up. It had felt nice to sleep in for a bit, but I was also eager to get into the wizarding world. Seeing Diagon Alley in the movies could in no way compare to experiencing it myself. I spend a moment contemplating how lucky I was, as Snape undid his transfigurations and collected the newspaper from the owl (the source of the tapping).

“Here, Harry. You’ve most likely never seen wizarding money, so you might as well learn now.” Snape beckoned me to the window where he stood. He held out his hand and I looked curiously at the strange-looking coins in his palm. “The large copper ones are Knuts,” he explained, “the silver ones are Sickles, and the small gold ones are Galleons. There are twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle and seventeen Sickles to a Galleon.”

“Speaking of money…” I chewed my lip. “Er, how will I pay for Hogwarts, sir?” I tried to sound the correct level of worried for an eleven year old. “I don’t have any money.” This was a legitimate concern of mine. I’d read plenty of fan-fiction where James Potter had been bad at finances and ended up leaving Harry nothing. Or where Dumbledore had helped himself to the Potter vaults.

“Do you think your parents would leave you nothing?” Snape sounded amused. “Your father has several vaults of money at Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Potter was an Ancient House, and one of the wealthier ones, too.”

Oh, good.

“Now, we ought to have breakfast before we leave. Normally, I’d encourage a well balanced meal, but since today is your birthday, I’ll allow eating only cake.” He smirked.

I tried not to stare. For a moment, I wondered whether I didn’t like the canon Snape more. I think he was less…disconcerting. What had happened, to change things so much?

After a quick breakfast of chocolate cake, which was delicious, I followed Snape out of the shack and into a small rowboat, much sturdier than the one I had taken to the island.

Snape quietly waved his wand once we were both safely inside, and the boat sped off towards land of its own accord.

Snape remained quiet through the small harbor town, in the train station, and on the train. I tried to soak up the atmosphere of England. I’d never been on a train before, and it was disappointingly boring. I’d also never been to London, but I suspected it would be just as disappointing.

It was.

It helped that Snape walked quickly and purposefully, and seemed to expect me to hurry to keep up with him. It made me miss my long, adult legs. I could get across campus in under five minutes in those legs. Ah, the good days.

While I was fondly reminiscing my college days – a thing I had once sworn I’d never do – we arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.

Snape paused for a moment and looked at me. “Harry Potter is quite well known in the wizarding community.” He said, and then hesitated. “Perhaps it would be best if you remain unnamed for today. The crowds, I fear, would overwhelm you otherwise.”

I nodded. It made sense to me.

He waved his wand at me, murmuring something I didn’t catch. “This is a glamour that will hide your scar.” His mouth twitched. “Now, stay close to me and don’t speak to strangers.” With this, he strode into the bar.

The bar was much like it had been depicted in the books. Dark, shabby, and full of suspicious characters. The low buzz of chatter slowed when Snape walked in, but picked back up when he gave a few of the shady patrons an irritated look. He approached the bar, where Tom the barkeep stood wiping a glass. This, I supposed, was a classic barkeep move. I kept seeing it everywhere.

“Mr. Snape, what brings you here?”

“Hogwarts business. I’ve got a muggleborn that needs their things.” Snape replied easily.

“There’s word Harry Potter will be in Diagon Alley today or tomorrow.” Tom murmured, staring piercingly at me.

Snape made a disgusted noise. “Only fools believe that sort of gossip, Tom. I’m sure that, were it the case, Dumbledore himself would show up to escort him.” His tone of voice made the silent _and we all know that’s never going to happen_ quite clear. “Now, we do have a few errands to run, so if you’ll be so kind as to excuse us…”

He whisked off through another door, which led to a small walled courtyard that contained only a trash can and some weeds.

I managed somehow to keep up with him as he tapped briskly on one of the bricks and strode through the opening as it appeared.

Then I stopped and stared.

Diagon Alley wasn’t at all how I’d pictured it.

It was better.

I wished I had about eight more eyes. I tried to look in every direction while simultaneously trotting after Snape, who had picked up his pace now that his destination was in view.

We reached Gringotts too soon for my tastes, and Snape swept inside with a nod at the goblin doorman. I noted he didn’t try to explain anything. He seemed thoroughly preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Inside, I took in the rows of goblin tellers. Snape headed directly for a specific one, whose desk plaque, I saw as we approached, read Shakespear. I muffled my childish giggle, and Snape shot me a quelling look.

“We’re here to take some money out of his vault,” here he gestured to me, “as well as collect the contents of vault seven hundred and thirteen. I have the vault key and a letter from Dumbledore.” Snape placed a small golden key and a paper on the desk.

The goblin took them and examined both closely. He gave me a long, unsettling look. “Very well, then,” He finally said, handing the letter back to Snape. I wondered what it said. “Griphook will take you to the vaults. Is this to be one of your discreet visits?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Shakespear nodded, and another goblin appeared mysteriously next to the desk.

“This way.” It said, and led us through one of the many doors that led out of the hall.

Snape looked slightly ill as he and I got into the cart with Griphook. The goblin seemed quite cheerful.

The cart hurtled down the track with ungodly speed, whizzing with an unpleasant buzzing sound that reminded me uncomfortably of the day that roller coaster at the amusement park had broken while I was riding it. I held more firmly onto the sides and prayed it would be over quickly. Snape seemed to share my sentiments.

The cart stopped abruptly beside a small door in the passage wall. Griphook bounced out of the cart. Snape and I followed after with markedly more unsteady legs.

The goblin unlocked the vault and I tried to keep from bouncing in excitement as the door swung open.


	3. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating again. Surprise!  
> This chapter and the next few are a lot of set-up and starting delving into everything that's changed from canon. I did try to tag this clearly, but I'll reiterate anyway -- this story has a lot of canon divergence and changed details! If you're still interested in the story but have things you do/don't want to see, feel free to contact me!

I had never experienced the rush of owning masses of money. My family had been solidly lower-middle class. As a college student, I was not exactly financially stable. At the Dursley’s, as Harry, I owned nothing.

Now, as I stared at glittering piles of gold, mounds of silver, stacks of brass, I realized I wasn’t missing very much.

There wasn’t a heady excitement, a gleeful joy of being able to buy whatever I wanted. The thought did occur to me that I wouldn’t have to worry about college debts. Other than that, it was just anticlimactic.

Snape seemed to be expecting some sort of response.

“Wow.” I tried for mind-boggled.

This seemed to satisfy him. “I told you your father was no beggar.” He sounded inordinately smug.

My eyes slid past the money and I noticed other things in the vault: furniture that looked antique, haphazard piles of jewelry, stacks of books. In the corner, slightly out of the way, were some trunks. I couldn’t help my curiosity. I loved nosing around in things that other people had left behind. My mother had always attributed it to my morbid obsession with the dead. I had always rolled my eyes at her. It wasn’t about the dead. It was about pieces of them that they left behind. It was about their life.

“What is all the other stuff?” I asked Snape.

He followed my gaze to the trunks. “Most of them are heirlooms or collector items. James – your father – was fond of collecting interesting and rare knickknacks, most of which have little to no use. As for those trunks, I believe the dark oak one was your grandfather’s. The other two are James’ and your mother’s, and still have their Hogwarts things. You will need a trunk for school, and if you like, your grandfather’s is empty and served him well in his school days.”

I smiled shyly, a skill I’d accumulated through watching other children and practicing in the mirror when the Dursley’s weren’t looking. “I’d like that.”

Snape nodded and with a wave of his wand, shrunk the dark trunk and tucked it into his pocket.

After collecting a bag of coins with which to purchase supplies, we left the vault and once again faced the dreaded cart.

“Vault seven hundred and thirteen, please,” Snape told Griphook, “and might we go a bit slower.”

“One speed only,” Griphook grinned, and off we went. I knew it had to be my imagination, but the second trip felt even faster than the first one.

Vault Seven Hundred and Thirteen had no keyhole.

“Stand back,” Griphook warned. He stroked the door with one finger, and it melted away.

I watched as Snape collected the small package. It seemed slightly different than from the books. Perhaps it was simply Snape himself, who took the parcel with some reverence and cast several silent, glowing spells on it before putting it somewhere I didn’t see.

^^^^^^^^^^ 

After a sickening ride through the twisting tunnels and a boring visit with my account manager that proved only how magnificently rich I was, Snape and I emerged from Gringotts into the bright sunlight.

“Now, the first thing you need is to be fitted for some robes.” Snape cast a despairing look at my too-large castoffs. “While you’re doing that, I’ve a mind to go fetch some of your other things. Will you be alright on your own for a moment?”

I could have laughed at his mildly concerned tone of voice. “Oh, yeah, the Dursley’s leave me alone a lot so I’m used to doing things by myself.” I said cheerily, and enjoyed the troubled expression that bounced across his face before disappearing behind a polite smile.

“Madam Malkin’s is right there,” he pointed to a brightly colored shop with moving mannequins in the window, which made me suppress a shudder as memories from Doctor Who flashed through my mind. “I’ll meet you at Flourish and Blotts when you’re done.” He pointed to another shop down the street.

“Okay, sounds good,” I grinned and headed towards Madam Malkin’s, not bothering to look back. I had a mission.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. “Hogwarts, is it?” She asked briskly as I walked in.

I nodded.

“Got a lot in here – we’ve another boy being fitted up just now, in fact.”

I looked toward the back of the shop, where a dark-skinned boy with a narrow, pointed face stood on a stool while a second witch pinned his long black robes. Madam Malkin led me over and had me stand on a stool next to him. She slipped a black robe over my head and began pinning it to the correct length; a length, I noticed despairingly, much shorter than the other boy’s.

“Hello,” said the other boy. “Hogwarts too?”

“Yes,” I said stiffly. Was this Malfoy? It was supposed to be Malfoy. Was _everything_ going to be different? How was I supposed to make friends if everything was so different?

“My father’s next door buying my books, and my mother is down the street looking at wands,” the boy informed me as if this information was at all relevant. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years aren’t allowed their own brooms. Perhaps I’ll persuade father to buy me one anyway, and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.” He didn’t seem very concerned about the fact that he was admitting to planning on breaking the rules to a fellow first year, one he had no reason to believe trustworthy.

“Have _you_ got your own broom?” the boy went on.

“No.” I said shortly. Maybe he would get the idea and stop talking.

He didn’t. “Play Quidditch at all?”

“I prefer more productive athletic activities.” I said grimly. Like running away from this conversation.

“Oh? _I_ play quite often. Father says it would be a crime if I’m not picked to play for my House. Do you know what house you’ll be in yet?”

Oh. The Houses. I had totally forgotten about the _houses._ What house _was_ I going to be in? “Ah, I haven’t decided yet,” I answered.

“Well, no one really knows where they’ll be sorted, but I’m rather certain I’ll be in Ravenclaw – my whole family’s been in Slytherin, but really, tradition never leads to improvement, or at least that’s what my godfather says.”

I made a note to avoid being in Ravenclaw. With the way this boy chattered, I wouldn’t survive seven years without ending up as a convict.

“Imagine if I ended up in Gryffindor, I think I’d leave, don’t you?” the boy continued on, as brave as the House he apparently loathed.

“Hmm.” I said, morosely contemplating leaping off the stool and disappearing into the crowded street. Sadly, I needed my robes.

“I say, there’s my godfather now!” The boy said, nodded at the window, where Snape was disappearing into Flourish and Blotts.

“I wonder what he’s doing here. I invited him to come with us on our Hogwarts shopping and he said he had important business to attend to. Odd that his business is in Diagon Alley. He could have done it with us, couldn’t he?” The boy, whoever he was, sounded rather cross.

“Snape is your godfather?” I asked quickly, to confirm.

“Yes,” he said, mildly put out. “Do you know him?”

“He’s the one taking me on my Hogwarts shopping.” I told him calmly.

“That’s you done, dear.” Madam Malkin said, and I hopped off the stool, glad to escape. A glance back as I left the shop showed the boy still looking shocked and affronted at his godfather’s perceived betrayal.

As I headed to the bookstore, I tried to decide whether or not to confront Snape about his annoying godson. The boy had had terrible manners, really, not introducing himself. At least I’d managed to leave before he talked my ear off. It seemed like there should have been a bit where he mentioned blood purity, but I supposed I’d managed to skip that bit.

Inside Flourish and Blotts, I took a deep breath and let myself relax. Books smelled the same in the wizarding world as they did back home. That was a relief. Books had always made me feel more at home. They didn’t judge, they didn’t complain, all you had to do was make sure to not drop them on your foot.

The shop was dim and dusty, and had floor to ceiling bookshelves lining every wall. There were also stacks of books cluttering the floor and on every available surface. The books were of every size, shape, and color. Most were bound in leather, but some were bound with wood, stone, dragon scales, one that looked suspiciously like human skin (which I supposed counted as leather), a few in intricately patterned stained glass, which took my breath away, and a dangerous looking one with a cover made from stinging nettles that hissed warningly at me when I picked it up.

“Ah, Harry.” Snape said, appearing behind me and startling me badly enough that I nearly dropped the stinging nettle book.

“I have your school books here,” he held a beautiful leather book-bag which I sincerely hoped was spelled to be feather-light. “If you like, you may pick out a couple other books as well, although I’d advice you stay away from the more…exotic ones.” He gave a pointed look at the book I held in my hands, which I sheepishly set down. 

Snape also didn’t let me get any of the advanced curse books, so I settled on one about glamour charms and one about wards. He seemed pleased with my final choices.

After we left the book store, he checked the list. “We’ve gotten your books and robes. I picked up some parchment, quills, and ink. I also got you a workbook to help with your penmanship. Muggle-raised generally need them. Next we should head to the Apothecary to pick up your Potions supplies.”

He led the way to the shop, his cloak sweeping behind him. I wondered if he practiced.

Inside the shop, Snape didn’t let me get a solid gold cauldron (“Only useful for very delicate potions and will make you look like a fool besides”), any of the rare ingredients (“First year ingredients come in the kit, and once again those are only used in the advanced potions, which you can’t craft yet”), or the self-focusing telescope (“Learning to use a telescope is a useful skill”). He did let me pick out a set of brass scales that showed the weight difference between the two objects to three decimals, which inordinately pleased me to my own disbelief. I wasn’t here to earn Snape’s approval, no matter how un-Snape-like he was. All I wanted was a magical scale.

We exited the shop after what felt like ages. “Now, the only thing left is your wand. And, of course, a birthday present.”

I looked up at him, startled. A birthday present? _Really?_ I knew this alternate dimension was bad, but was it really so defective that Severus Snape was going to buy me a birthday present?

“Why are you so surprised? Surely the Dursley’s have gotten you presents?”

“Yeah, a hanger and some old socks.” I’d meant it as a quip, but it ended sounding a bit bitter.

“Well.” Snape quirked an eyebrow and frowned slightly. “There’s a first time for everything. What would you like?”

“I don’t know.” I really didn’t. Harry had gotten an owl in the book, but I didn’t particularly feel like taking care of a pet bird. My roommate had owned seven parakeets and, to be quite honest, they had stripped me of any appreciation for birds I’d previously had.

“Maybe a pet?” Snape prompted. “Owls can be quite useful, although cats tend to be less work. Toads and snakes are also both options.”

“Snakes?” I hadn’t really read the paper, so I hadn’t seen the list of acceptable animals. I’d assumed it would be the same as in the books. Apparently I was wrong, as I seemed to be doomed to be about everything.

“Yes, snakes.” Snape sounded amused. “The patron animal of Slytherin, my house.”

Maybe I should go into Slytherin. “I’d like a snake,” I said, hopefully.

He nodded and checked his watch. “We should have time to pick one out, get your wand, and find somewhere to eat before the lunch rush hits.”

Food! Yes! At the mention of lunch I couldn’t help perking up. I caught myself speeding bouncily toward the pet store, and had to force myself to walk normally. Behind me, I was sure Snape was laughing at me.

Scales and Scuttles, the shop Snape had led me to, was a small and cramped store and I immediately felt on edge. It was dim, lit only by the heat lamps in the reptile cages, and smelled of rodent.

The grizzled woman at the counter was smoking a long, thin cigar whose tip glowed green. “What are you here for, then?” She growled at us as we entered.

“I’d like a snake!” I piped in a hopefully cheerful voice.

She gave me a long look, and turned her eyes to Snape. “Is that right?”

“It is.” Snape said curtly.

“Well, they’re over there.” She gestured toward the left side of the shop with her cigar, leaving a glowing green line in the air for a moment. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

I hesitated for a moment, keeping my eyes on her just in case she had anything else to say, before making a beeline for the area she’d pointed us at.

Snape followed me at a more leisurely pace.

Most of the snakes were dozing. A few looked drugged. None of them seemed to notice me, but just seeing them made me pine for my rosy boa back home. I hoped my roommate was taking care of her in my absence.

The snakes seemed to be more alert down the aisle, so I headed toward the movement. I wanted to talk to them in Parseltongue before I got one, but I didn’t want Snape to learn of my talent. I’d talked to snakes before, but the novelty of it really didn’t wear off. Speaking English and hearing it come out as hisses, hearing hisses and _knowing_ what it said. It was amazing.

I stopped in front of one of the larger tanks. It contained a partially grown rosy boa very close to the same size my own had been before I’d left. I immediately wanted it, if only just for the nostalgia factor.

“Can I get this one?” I asked Snape.

He looked at it and nodded. “Rosy boas are relatively simple to take care of.”

I bounced excitedly, expressing my glee in an acceptably childish manner.

He levitated the cage with a wave of his wand and brought it up to the counter, where the woman was now surrounded in a green-tinted cloud of smoke.

“We’d like this one,” he told her with forced pleasantness.

She looked at it and grunted. “Six Galleons.”

“We’d also like a 30 liter escape-proof cage, a sack of aspen substrate, and a year’s supply of food.”

The woman rang the purchase up with a tap of her wand. “Your total is eleven Galleons,” she told Snape.

Snape paid calmly and shrank the objects, putting them in the same pocket as my trunk.

“Now all we need to do is get you a wand.” He told me as we left the store.

I took a deep, appreciative breath of clean air. That store really had reeked.

Snape led the way to Ollivander’s, for my wand.

MY wand.

Not Harry Potter’s wand.

My own, actual, real, magic wand.

My WAND.

It lost more meaning the more I thought about it.

Ollivander’s was a narrow, dusty shop. Not dirty the way Scales and Scuttles was, but in the way something very old that had never been properly cleaned was dirty. Neat piles of narrow boxes were stacked against the walls. The very air made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something here was very fundamentally magical.

The only other thing in the tiny place was a tall, spindly chair. Snape and I both opted to stand.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice, startling me. An old man stood in front of us, his large, pale eyes shining moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Hello,” I said awkwardly. He looked very fragile, like his bones would snap if I pushed him over. Being around him was giving me a vague sense of anxiety.

“Ah, yes.” He looked at me and I was filled with a certainty that he was seeing _me_. “What a series of unfortunate and uncertain events brings you into my shop.”

Snape shifted uneasily. He seemed rather perturbed by the old man’s words.

“This is Harry Potter.” He said.


	4. Wands and Wizards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one! I was having a really hard time with it, but it's finished now so no looking back.  
> Thank you to everyone who bookmarked or left comments or kudos! You make my heart go HWEHHH!  
> This chapter has mention of emotional neglect.

“I know who he is.” The man replied vaguely, still staring at me.

“You have your mother’s eyes.” He told me, suddenly, following the necessary script. “It seems like only yesterday she was in here herself; Ten and a quarter inches long, her wand, swishy and made of willow. Excellent for charm work.”

He moved closer to me, his silvery eyes staring into mine without blinking. “Your father, however, favored mahogany. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for Transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it. It’s really the wand that chooses the wizard.”

He had come close enough he was almost nose to nose with me. I could see myself reflected in those misty eyes, a timid eleven year old with too large eyes and too gaunt cheeks.

He touched my jagged scar with a long, white finger, ignoring the fact that it was still under glamour. “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did that,” he said softly. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands, well… if I’d known what that wand was going to do…”

He shook his head and then seemed to focus in on Snape. “Severus!” He exclaimed brightly. “Hawthorne, twelve and three quarter inches, slightly springy, wasn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

“Quite a temperamental wand, if I recall – excellent with curses, tendency toward the Dark Arts…”

“It serves me well.” Snape said, rather stiffly.

“Of course it does, hawthorn is a very loyal wood.” Ollivander waved him away and turned back to me. “Now, let me see…” he pulled out a tape measure. “Which is your wand arm?”

“I’m right handed?”

“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured me from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around my head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix tail feathers. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

As the tape measure measured between my nostrils, I realized it was doing this itself. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shop, pulling out box after box.

“That will do,” he said and the tape measure crumpled, lifeless, to the floor. “Right then, try this. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

I accepted the wand and waved it shyly. Ollivander snatched it out of my hand almost at once.

“Maple and phoenix feathers, seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –”

I tried, but I had hardly raised the wand when he took it away and gave me another.

“No, no. Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

I tried and tried. I knew vaguely what he was looking for, but it was rather tiring going through wand after wand. I wondered if I would have to have the same wand Harry had had in the books. I didn’t want it to be the same, but at this point, with a huge pile of wands beside me, I was beginning to despair of ever escaping.

Snape was sitting in the spindly chair, reading the newspaper. Every couple wands, he’d look up almost hopefully. He seemed to want to leave as badly as I did.

Ollivander, on the other hand, seemed to gain momentum with every failed wand. He was flying around the shop now, squeaking excitedly to himself as he picked up boxes and then immediately rejected them. This went on for a few minutes as he tried and failed to find a wand he was willing to even hand to me.

“Tricky one, this one. Tricky, tricky. Hmm.,,” he paused for a moment and eyed me thoughtfully with his strangely luminescent eyes, then dived back into the shelves. “I wonder, perhaps, yes – unusual combination, holly and phoenix feathers, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

He brought me the wand and I took it with a grimace. This was Harry Potter’s wand. I lifted it cautiously, ready to wave it, and then he promptly swept it from my hands.

“No, no, not this one. Maybe…” He darted deeper into the shop and disappeared from view. I heard some indistinct crashes and muffled thuds and he came back with a few more boxes. The boxes looked slightly dusty, as if they hadn’t been touched in a while.

He grinned at me in a conspiring manner. “Yes, tricky, Mr. Potter, but never fear – I’ve never met a witch or wizard I didn’t find a wand for.”

He opened one of the boxes. “Hornbeam and dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches, slightly rigid. An excellent, dependable wand.”

I took the wand and waved it. Nothing happened and Ollivander looked vaguely disappointed as he took the wand from me. He took the next wand with some excitement, though, and thrust it eagerly into my hands.

“Vine and unicorn hair, a quite sensitive wand. Eleven and a half inches, springy.”

The wand glowed brightly before my hand even touched it and I stopped hesitantly, staring wide-eyed at Ollivander. He looked quite excited.

“Very sensitive, I told you,” he whispered, and thrust it into my hand.

The wand bloomed flowers made from silver sparks, which was surprising and felt rather like it was showing off.

Ollivander took my wand and put it back in its box. “Curious, though,” he murmured as he did so.

“Sorry, but what’s curious?” I asked. I was, for one, but that was hardly important.

“I remember every wand I sell, Mr. Potter, and wands are very temperamental things. I don’t often sell pre-owned wands because of this, so it’s curious that you should be chosen by this particular wand,” he tapped the box and looked at me meaningfully, “when it’s previous owner is rumored to have been none other than Nicolas Flamel.”

At my blank look he smiled knowingly and handed the wrapped box to me. “But of course, it is only a rumor.”

I paid seven Galleons for my wand and Ollivander bowed us out of his shop.

^^^^^^^^^^

It was as we stepped out of the shop that misfortune struck, as it seemed to do much too often for my taste.

Across the way I spotted, much to my horror, the dark-skinned boy from the shop, next to two well dressed adults I assumed were his parents. I almost ducked behind Snape, but too late remembered he knew Snape.

He looked over, saw us, and waved excitedly. His parents looked over to see who their son was waving at in so vigorous a breach of decorum, and also saw Snape. The trio began to head our way. I scanned the street for escape routes.

There were none.

All too soon, they were upon us.

“Severus, old friend, it’s been too long,” Greeted the handsome male adult, who I guessed was the horror child’s unwilling sire. He clasped Snape’s hand in a relaxed handshake that looked more like a poor excuse to simply cling to his hand in a very gay manner.

The equally handsome female adult of the trio cast her male accomplice a warning glance, suggesting that she too had picked up on his intent.

Snape retrieved his hand and smiled politely at the female to show he had not willingly subjected himself to the male’s advances.

“Madam Zabini,” He bowed lightly. She offered him her hand and he kissed it lightly.

The male looked on with poorly concealed jealousy; I felt rather like I’d fallen into some horrible British drama.

But the name Zabini –

“Godfather,” The horror child said loudly, probably suffering from the lack of attention he was receiving. “I thought you had important business to do today.” He glared petulantly at Snape and I was reminded of Duddlekins.

“I am on important business.” Snape gestured to me. “Hogwarts business; taking a Muggle-raised student shopping for their school supplies.”

The horror child gave me a look that suggested he didn’t think I was very important. I privately agreed with him. “You could have taken him with you and done your shopping with us!” He pointed out, quite reasonably in my opinion.

“Godfather!” Came a yell from across the street and all of us looked over to see _another_ trio of aristocratic wizards headed towards us. The young one was a good deal ahead of the two adults of this trio.

It was the Malfoys.

_How many godchildren does Snape have?_

The young one, who I supposed would have to be Draco, looked surprised to see me. “Oh,” He said. He turned to see where his parents were, and looked daunted at how far behind they were. He shifted nervously, and extended his hand. “Draco Malfoy.”

I accepted his hand cautiously. I didn’t know whether to give him my real name. I glanced inquiringly at Snape, and he nodded his head encouragingly, which I took to mean I was allowed to tell Draco who I was.

“Harry Potter,” I said.

Draco’s eyes widened marginally, but to his credit he kept his composure.

“I met you in the shop!” The horror child exclaimed.

Madam Zabini gave her child an amused look. “Really, Blaise, you must learn to be more tactful.”

Blaise. Oh, _that’s_ where I heard the name Zabini. Blaise Zabini. The one with the Black Widow mom.

“Sorry.” Blaise apologized. He also stuck out his hand. “I’m Blaise Zabini. A pleasure to meet you.”

I shook his hand cautiously.

“Ah, Severus, do excuse Draco’s eagerness,” Mrs. Malfoy sang as she breezed elegantly up to us with enough grace to take my breath away. She gave us all a dazzling smile. “He was so disappointed to learn you couldn’t accompany us today.”

Snape gave another smile that looked a good deal more grimace-like. “Yes, well,” he set a hand on my shoulder awkwardly, “Hogwarts business.”

Ms. Malfoy gave me an appraising look. “I’m sure he could have come with us,” She cooed. “Draco would love another boy his age to spend time with.”

Snape looked vaguely uncomfortable.

“He could have come with us as well,” Madam Zabini put in silkily. “Blaise is fitting company for the Boy Who Lived.”

So I _was_ the BWL in this world. Well, that was… nice, I guess.

Lucius Malfoy appeared and put his arm around his wife as he gave her a loving peck on the cheek. She blushed prettily and giggled.

“Severus, how lovely to see you,” he remarked to Snape, who looked increasingly uncomfortable. “I understand you have business to attend to, but perhaps you could make time to join us for lunch?” He glanced at Madam Zabini, who appeared to be in a haughty staring match with Ms. Malfoy. “And of course, we would love to have Madam Zabini and her family as well.”

Snape glanced at me. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

Lucius smiled. “I’m sure the ladies would love some time to catch up and have a nice chat.”

I looked at the ‘ladies’ in question, who looked like they would love nothing more than to attack each other. Snape followed my gaze.

“Of course they would.” He said politely.

My opinion of him improved immensely.

“Narcissa, dear, what would you think if we took Severus and his young charge to that lovely French café down the street and treated them to lunch?”

Ms. Malfoy turned from her silent war with Madam Zabini to treat us with a brilliant smile. “That would be lovely!” She turned to Madam Zabini. “You are more than welcome to join us, of course.”

Madam Zabini smiled graciously. “Thank you for your kind invitation,”

“Can we, Ma, can we? It’s been ages since I’ve gotten to spend time with Draco – I want to tell him about our trip to Italy!” Blaise interrupted, bouncing excitedly. The adult aristocrats gave him a variety of amused, indulgent looks.

“Very well, sweetheart,” Madam Zabini gave her son a fond smile.

“Then it’s settled.” Lucius said matter-of-factly, and began striding purposefully down the street.

The rest of us trailed after him. The Zabini male, whose name had not been offered, stayed next to Snape and tried to engage him in conversation. Snape, in retaliation, stayed next to Lucius. Lucius seemed to find the situation humorous, though, and from Snape’s various betrayed expressions, was only making things worse.

Ms. Malfoy and Madam Zabini walked in the back, debating bits of noblewoman gossip and comparing tailors.

This left me trapped between Blaise Never-shuts-up Zabini and Draco Well-my-father-says Malfoy.

“Severus said you were Muggle-raised.” Draco stated in a conversational tone.

“Yep.” I replied.

“So, what are your parents? My whole family’s pureblood, I’ve never met any Muggleborn. I hear they’re awful.” Blaise asked in a torrent of unfiltered thought.

Draco gave him an irritated look. “My father says Muggleborn are to be pitied – they have no control over their birth, after all. He says it’s the Ministry’s shortcomings that cause Muggleborn to have so many issues adjusting to wizard culture.”

“My parents were both wizards, but they’re dead now.” I told them, answering the original question despite it being a little off topic now.

They stared at me in horror.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Draco put in.

Thankfully the revelation seemed to have shut Blaise up. I shrugged as we entered the café. “It was a long time ago, so I don’t really remember them.”

The sentence was awkwardly loud in the empty waiting area and I realized all the adults were staring at me. Mostly they looked pitying. Snape looked uncomfortable, which I gathered was his natural state of existence.

Lucius cleared his throat gently. “Table for eight, please and thank you,” he told the waitress witch. She nodded, looking a bit star-struck.

“This way,” she murmured, collecting some menus and leading us into the dining area.

We were led to an out of the way table near the wide French windows that overlooked a pleasant meadow due to some sort of enchantment.

“Shelia will be your waitress today.” The witch told Lucius. As if on cue, a lovely witch about my age – which is to say, about twenty-five – appeared. She offered us a slightly nervous smile.

“What will you have to drink?” She asked as the other witch vanished back to her station.

Lucius smiled gently at her, perhaps trying to ease her nerves. It instead caused her to blush slightly.

Mrs. Malfoy gave her husband a pointed look. “Eight glasses of bubbling rose lemonade, with ice please.”

Bubbling rose lemonade? What a prissy drink. Of course, this was Mrs. Malfoy, but still, I had expected something a little less…feminine. Lucius just nodded along. I suspected he would have nodded no matter what his wife had ordered. She could have asked for eight goblets of children’s blood, or the liquefied remains of Merlin’s soul and he wouldn’t have batted an eye.

Shelia wrote the order down. “I’ll be back in a moment to take your orders.” She smiled fretfully again and hurried away.

Draco and Blaise flanked me as we sat. I tried to pretend it wasn’t as awkward as it actually was.

“So, Harry,” Madam Zabini said as she sat down next to her husband, “are you excited for Hogwarts?”

I thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose. I don’t know much about it though, so I’m also very nervous.”

“Do you know what House you’ll be in, dear?” Mrs. Malfoy asked me kindly.

I shrugged. “Blaise asked me that too…but I don’t really know what that means, sorry.” I tried to approximate embarrassed apology.

“Oh,” Mrs. Malfoy smiled dazzlingly, apparently pleased to explain. “Hogwarts was founded by four witches and wizards. Each had different core beliefs and valued different traits in their students, so they created the four Houses.

“Salazar Slytherin valued cunning and ambition, and believed unity was the most important thing wizardkind could have. My own family, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, has been Slytherin for as far back as can be traced.” She smiled, amusement tinting her voice as if there was some inside joke about the statement.

“Rowena Ravenclaw valued curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. She believed wizardkind needed an educated mind and a quick wit.

“Godric Gryffindor valued courage and chivalry, and believed in doing the right thing, no matter the cost. He thought wizardkind was too selfish.

“And lastly, there was Helga Hufflepuff., who valued loyalty and compassion.” Mrs. Malfoy finished. She had an odd look on her face, almost uneasy. “She believed in equality.”

“Oh.” I said uncertainly. That was a bit different from the books. “They sound nice.” I tried.

“Father says I’m sure to be in Slytherin.” Draco said calmly. “All the Malfoys have been.”

Blaise pouted. “I want to be in Ravenclaw. Everyone knows Slytherin’s been turned evil by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

“It’s not evil!” Draco shot back with more emotion than I’d heard from him all afternoon.

“Who’s He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?” I asked Snape, since Blaise and Draco were arguing quietly and heatedly about evil.

Snape and Lucius exchanged meaningful looks. Mrs. Malfoy and Madam Zabini gave me pitying and curious looks, respectively. The male Zabini was looking surreptitiously at Snape.

“You don’t know of He-Shall-Not-Be-Named? You – Harry Potter – have never heard of him?” Madam Zabini sounded affronted, and gave Snape a deeply offended look, as if it were somehow his fault.

“I was raised by Muggles…” I muttered reluctantly, ducking my head. I wasn’t actually embarrassed, but something in Madam Zabini’s tone activated my flight response.

“He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who – or the Dark Lord, if you support him – was dark wizard who attempted to revolutionize the wizarding world by force.” Snape said carefully.

Madam Zabini laughed. “That’s a rather tame description, considering how many good wizards and witches have died fighting him.”

She turned to me, her eyes alight with something concerning. “He was a tyrant who believed wizardkind should be completely separate from Muggles. He tore many Muggleborn children from their homes, often killing the Muggle parents. He slaughtered the spouses of any witch or wizard who had dared to commit the treason of marrying a Muggle. He was ruthless and single-minded in his devotion to the concept of a Muggle-free Wizarding Britain.”

“If I may disagree with you, Madam Zabini,” Lucius began in a pleasant tone of voice, “I mean no offence, but I find your viewpoint rather…uninformed, as well as unnecessarily harsh. You use the same words the rabble-rousers do. Spreading misinformation only adds to the chaos.” He smiled agreeably.

Madam Zabini looked like he’d just splashed champagne on her dress.

“Are you ready to order?” Shelia asked, appearing out of nowhere and diffusing the tension in the air. A wave of her wand to send the drinks around the table. The drinks set themselves down and were quickly followed by shallow bowls of salad. A couple of baskets of bread, steaming slightly, set themselves in the middle of the table. A platter of cheese added itself as well.

I watched the dishes, transfixed. Magic was mesmerizing.

“We thought perhaps the _Ragoût de Veau - and_ _Croque-Monsieur_ for the little ones.” Mrs. Malfoy told her.

I didn’t understand French, although my roommate had sometimes spoken it when he was really high. I gave Draco a questioning look. He seemed to be the more trustworthy of the two. Blaise would probably submit me to a three-minute torture session of nonstop information.

“ _Ragoût de Veau_ is thick veal stew. It’s good, but a bit spicy. _Croque-Monsieur_ is grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with some sort of sauce on them.” Draco whispered to me.

“Thanks.” I whispered back.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a moment with your orders!” Shelia said with forced bright smile. With a swish of her wand the menus removed themselves, and what looked like a wine menu presented itself to Lucius. Mrs. Malfoy immediately snatched it from him with a warning look.

I resisted the urge to sigh as I came to the sudden realization that I would have to wait at least six more years before I would be allowed to have alcohol.

As soon as the waitress was completely out of sight, Madam Zabini began a lively debate with Lucius about He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. I surveyed them for a few minutes, learning about how he believed in equality for Dark Creatures such as vampires and werewolves – something Madam Zabini was against – and how he wanted to eventually rid all the British Isles of Muggles, turning it into a Wizard Sanctuary – something Lucius was for – and how his actions had began peacefully and had only turned violent when it was clear the Ministry was being completely unreasonable – something Madam Zabini and Lucius agreed on.

“Um, Professor Snape?” I asked. “What does You-Know-Who have to do with me? Is he the Dark Lord who killed my parents?”

Snape looked rather pained at my question. “Yes, he was. No one knows quite what happened the night he killed your parents, but he vanished that night and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. You were found in the wreckage of the house, unharmed save your scar.”

“Why did he kill my parents?” I decided to ignore the fact that both Draco and Blaise were very obviously listening.

Snape frowned. “I don’t know. I believe he was targeting you specifically and your parents merely got in the way.”

“Why was he targeting me specifically?”

“That’s a question you for Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Dumbledore,” Madam Zabini snorted, taking a long sip of her lemonade. “The _greatest wizard that ever lived._ ” The scorn in her voice could have smothered a rhinoceros.

“He is a very persuasive leader,” Mrs. Malfoy demurred.

Lucius curled his lip into an elegant sneer. “He was a persuasive leader twenty years ago.” His grey eyes flashed harshly, and he sounded like he would have said more had we not been in a public place.

“Now, Lucius, we wouldn’t want to affect Harry’s opinion of a man he’s never met.” Snape frowned at Lucius, who had the grace to look mildly chagrined.

“You’ve affected my opinion of the Dark Lord, and I’ve never met him.” I pointed out cheerily.

The adults looked vaguely uncomfortable.

“You can’t call him the Dark Lord, Harry; people will think you support him!” Blaise hissed at me.

On my left, Draco nodded.

I refrained from saying anything that implied I _did_ support him, despite being sorely tempted. “You-Know-Who, then.” I sighed.

“He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named will hardly care about your opinion of him.” Madam Zabini offered with a smirk.

I frowned at her. The more she spoke, the less sure I was about where she stood.

“But such dark topics aren’t suitable for such a lovely day,” Mrs. Malfoy interrupted the tense atmosphere with a warm smile. “Draco, why don’t you and Blaise tell Harry about Hogwarts? I imagine he hasn’t heard anything from his aunt and uncle.”

How did she know I lived with my aunt and uncle? I hadn’t told her. Maybe Snape had mentioned it while I wasn’t paying attention?

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Draco intoned. “The best magic school in all the British Isles. The school itself is in the Scottish Moors. It has a more advanced curriculum than any of the smaller schools. It teaches classes you would otherwise need to hire private tutors in order to learn, such as Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Healing Arts to name a few. First years start the basics: History, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. This will provide a solid, well-rounded foundation for future education as well as filling in the gaps in the educations of less well-off students.

“Hogwarts also offers a variety of extra-curricular activities such as Quidditch, Chess Club, Glee Club, Book Club, and many student and tutor study groups.

“Hogwarts has one of the highest Professors-to-student ratios, as well as one of the lowest lethality rates in its classes and activities, making it a prime choice for any Muggle born or raised students who might be new to the Wizarding World. To further assist these unfortunate souls in adjusting, it offers PAM, an inclusive adjustment program that offers Purebloods an insight into Muggle culture and Muggleborn a solid guide into the Wizarding World.”

I stared at Draco. Had he just... that sounded like an info pamphlet. Had he seriously memorized and _quoted_ a Hogwarts _pamphlet_? That was the sort of thing _Hermione_ was supposed to do. Had he replaced her? Oh god, what was going to happen if they _met??_

As I internally panicked, it occurred to me that Draco was looking at me expectantly, waiting for a reply.

“It sounds really great!” I managed to say brightly. Snape gave me a distractedly worried look, so I guessed he’d heard the slight terror edging the comment.

“You’ll be fine! You’re basically famous, because of You-Know-Who, so you’ll have no trouble fitting in! And Draco and I will be your friends, no matter what House you get into.” Blaise exclaimed enthusiastically.

Oh no. I was never going to be able to escape him now.

Shelia, the magical godsend, appeared again with our food. I had never been more thankful to see a beautiful, freckled face.

Food was a most welcome distraction, to be sure, but it, like everything in my life, was short-lived and soon enough I could no longer avoid conversation by eating.

To my horror, after my food was gone, I found myself being waved toward a dessert display by Mrs. Malfoy, Draco and Blaise my faithful guards. I tried to send Snape a betrayed look, but he was engrossed in a quiet conversation with Lucius and didn’t notice.

“The desserts here are the best!” Blaise bounced excitedly; I pitied whoever had been assigned to teach him pureblood decorum. “I love the Lemon Sparkles Waterfall,” he pointed at an ornately decorated lemon lava-cake, “but the Dreamy Devil Tarts are also superb.”

I stared at the tarts; the devil eyes followed my movements and their little icing mouths opened and closed lazily.

“My Father says the Devil Tarts from _Tyles_ are better.” Draco frowned at the display case, apparently taking his decision-making very seriously. “Harry, what do you like?”

“Um…” I hesitated helplessly. I’d never been allowed sweets at the Dursley’s, so it had been at least ten years since the last time I’d had a proper dessert. I glanced over the sweets, each seeming more outlandish and unnecessary. I picked one at random. “I think I’ll try the Raspberry Kitten Cake?”

Draco nodded importantly. “My father says it has excellent flavor.”

An image of Lucius Malfoy elegantly eating the pink, glittery monstrosity with a polite smile on his face made me swallow a giggle. It wouldn’t do to offend Draco.

Especially since at this point I was basically stuck with him for the next seven years, unless I went into Gryffindor. I wasn’t desperate enough to escape him to subject myself to _that._

The witch at the counter smiled kindly down at us when we went to order. I was reminded of Dumbledore and had to resist the urge to shudder. Too many creepy old people around. They really shouldn’t go around smiling at little kids like that.

“What’ll it be for you?” She asked.

Draco ordered something chocolatey and decadent. I made him relay my order as well.

“Alright, loves, will that be all?” She didn’t even glance at Blaise, who had just started to tell her what he wanted.

Draco frowned at her. “Blaise,” he asked, looking pointedly at Blaise, “what would you like?”

The witch followed Draco’s gaze and looked slightly started when she saw Blaise. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t see you there! What would you like?” She sounded embarrassed and confused. I wondered if Blaise was using a Notice-Me-Not spell.

No, he looked uncomfortable and disappointed as he told the witch what he wanted. It almost seemed as though this was a common occurrence, although I had no ideas as to why.

The witch bustled away to fetch our desserts, leaving us momentarily alone.

I took the opportunity I’d been given and addressed Blaise softly. “What was that about? You were standing right there.”

He shifted from foot to foot, not quite meeting my eyes. “It’s a bloodline thing,” he confessed finally. “I’m really easy to ignore...and forget about…have been since I was a baby.”

“ _I_ noticed you right away,” I pointed out.

But actually, now that I thought about it...I had been quite prepared to ignore him until he’d made it impossible by talking to me.

Maybe that’s why he talked so much.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “some people seem to be immune. Draco is.”

Draco nodded. “It’s not all bad, though,” he said in a slightly forced cheerful voice. “If we play things right we can get free dessert.”

Blaise frowned. “She might remember mine when she comes back.” Apparently he knew what Draco was referring to, and...had done it before?

Just after he said that, the witch came back with mine and Draco’s desserts. Draco gave me a smirking ‘just watch’ look.

I dutifully watched.

“Ma’am,” Draco said coldly, making the polite term sound like a degrading insult, “you’ve forgotten my friend.”

The witch glanced worriedly at me, and then at the pink cake. “Have I?” She sounded confused. I felt a slight stab of pity for her; my brief escapade through the perils of serving tables made it impossible for me feel no guilt at her plight.

Not that I was going to stop it.

Draco gestured imperiously toward Blaise, who was looking sad and pitiful - but still regal and well-bred.

The witch stuttered an apology, obviously mortified at having made the same mistake twice, but Draco cut her off.

“Do you know who I am?” He demanded, flicking signature platinum blond hair out of his eyes.

I held my breath in anticipation. Was he going to say the line? Was he? Oh, he was, wasn’t he.

“My father _will_ hear of this.”

It took all of my carefully practiced self-control (which I _did_ have) to keep from cheering.

The witch now looked concerned. Not terrified, because Draco frankly wasn’t very intimidating, but decently concerned. “I’m sure that’s not necessary,” she began, trying to ignore the affronted look Draco was pinning her with. “Why don’t you and your friends take your desserts on the house, as an apology?”

Draco sniffed and tossed his head. “Very well.” He conceded. “Your apology is accepted.”

The witch relaxed enough to smile at us as she handed us our treats. I noted she’d wandlessly summoned Blaise’s probably for fear of forgetting his again.

Draco gave me a self-satisfied grin as we headed back to our table.

I raised a judgmental eyebrow at him. “That was a good swindle.”

He huffed. “My father says it’s merely utilizing your various resources to the fullest personal benefit.”

Lucius Malfoy probably would say that. “And I say the poor serving-witch is going to get in trouble for the perceived insult against you as well as having emotional issues over the fact that she forgot about the existence of a child _twice_ while said child was in her line of sight.”

Draco pouted at that. “You make it sound so immoral.” He grumbled.

Blaise, I noted, was being unusually quiet. I hoped he was alright. I wasn’t prepared to deal with an emotional eleven-year-old. I couldn’t handle myself most days, what was I supposed to do with someone I’d only met _today?_ I didn’t have any person-specific Comfort Words. I didn’t have any Comfort Words at all! I was going to say the wrong thing and probably scar him for life and then he would abandon...me… I glanced over, not sure if wanting to get rid of him after I’d learned about his bloodline thing was something I could do with a good conscience.

We reached the table. Lucius glanced up from his conversation, his lips twitching in amusement as he observed our choices. I wondered if this was why Draco had been so serious about his selection.

“Are you planning on trying to drain the Malfoy coffers through orders of dessert again, Draco?” He drawled with a chuckle.

Draco sat with an embarrassed huff. “That was _one_ time.”

Mrs. Malfoy gave a light laugh. “And quite a time it was, too. The whole table was covered in deserts with one bite out of them, and the _look_ on your face!” She exchanged looks with Madam Zabini. “I’m sure you’ve never had such trouble with Blaise.”

Madam Zabini laughed as well. “Oh, no. Blaise has always been a perfect angel! Why, sometimes I forget he’s even there!”

The table only went quiet for a moment before Lucius calmly moved the conversation on to the subject of the upcoming Ministry meetings. But that brief pause was telling enough for me to realize exactly what sort of home life Blaise must have.

I eyed him speculatively as I began to eat my desert. His eyes remained fixed on his plate, his movements mechanical.

So it came to this. Inwardly, I put what little Latin I knew to crafting an imaginative curse to put on Madam Zabini. Outwardly, I poked Blaise with my foot. “What sort of things to wizard kids do for fun?”

Blaise lit up a bit too aggressively, even for him, clinging to this lifeline with startling and frankly concerning enthusiasm. “Well, there’s Quidditch, which is a broom sport!” He launched into an explanation of the rules I only half-listened to. He finished with: “Draco and I can teach you if you come over during the summer! You’ll do that, won’t you? They’re not going to send you back to the… Muggles?” The last word he whispered, like he was scared he’d get in trouble if he said it too loud.

I shrugged. “They are my family, so I kind of have to go back, unless there’s next of kin willing to try to get custody.” I’d only researched those laws a bit and had no clue if wizard laws even worked the same.

“But isn’t it kind of… awful, living with them?” Blaise continued to loudly whisper at me.

I shrugged. “A bit, but what can I do? I’m just a kid.” And I was. I wouldn’t be able to escape the Dursley’s grasp until I was seventeen, according to the books. Maybe wizard laws were different in this universe.

Blaise finished his desert ponderously and quietly.

Draco, however, cut in. “What about your godfather?”


	5. Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> Thank you to everyone who commented, bookmarked, or left kudos! You breathe life into me!  
> This chapter kicks off a whole pile of plot and AU things! If you read this and decide it's not your piece of cake, that's totally fine! I understand this isn't the sort of story some people like to read. If you have questions about where specifically I'm taking this, feel free to contact me!

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as that question sunk in. Sirius. I had completely forgotten about Sirius.

Shit, that was… I didn’t have any sort of plan for this.

“I have a godfather?” I managed.

“Yes, everyone has a godfather.” Draco said, as if it was obvious. “Do you not know who yours is?”

I shook my head mutely and eyed Snape, who looked engaged in a conversation with the Zabini male. Best not to interrupt them, then. “I’ll ask Snape when he takes me home,” I decided out loud.

Shelia arrived with the check, presenting it to Lucius with a timid smile. He returned the smile politely and she was definitely blushing when she scurried away. I eyed him speculatively. It was probably because he was rich and blond.

I, I realized, would most likely die a single virgin. Mental versus physical age difference aside, I was going to grow up into a scrawny, bespectacled idiot looking fellow while – I gave Draco and Blaise deservingly foul glances – both the children who’d decided to befriend me would definitely turn into absolute heartthrobs should they live until their twenties.

Life, I decided glumly as I swallowed my last bite of cake, was decidedly unfair.

Ah, well. It wasn’t like the fate in store for me exactly lent itself to romantic escapades.

Lucius set a handful of gold coins on the check and they disappeared, replaced with what I assumed was his change. It seemed like a delightfully convenient way to pay. He did leave the change on the table as he stood; apparently he was one of the rich people who tipped well.

The rest of the table stood as well and Snape waved me to him. “Come along. We’d best be off.” He nodded curtly at Lucius. “Thank you, we had a lovely time.” He sounded a bit crabby; I wondered what the Zabini man had said to ruin his mood.

I followed him out of the café, hurrying a bit to catch up with his long legs. “Mr. Snape?” I managed when I reached him.

He looked down at me, expression lightening slightly. “Yes?”

“Um,” I suddenly recalled the hideous rivalry between Snape and Sirius and wondered if it was actually a good idea to ask. Ah, well, better now than later. “I was wondering… Draco mentioned you’re his godfather, and how everyone has one and I was wondering…” I trailed off, hoping he got the idea.

“You were wondering who’s yours is and why he isn’t taking care of you instead of your relatives.” Snape finished.

I nodded, shuffling my feet nervously as I waited for him to answer.

After an uncomfortable pause, he sighed. “This isn’t perhaps the best time or place to explain. I will tell you what I can on the train back to Surrey.” And then off he strode again, only just slow enough for me to keep up.

Naturally, the first thing I did when we were finally on the train and seated in an empty compartment was turn and fix Snape with an expectant look.

He frowned and clasped his hands in his lap. “What do you know about your parents?”

I chewed my lip. “They were wizards and they were killed by a evil wizard. Vernon always said my dad was a drunk lay-about and Petunia once called my mom a whore.” Both of those things were true, and I wondered what Snape would think.

His expression didn’t change much. “Your parents… I went to school with them. I was very close friends with your father, actually.”

I stared. Probably much harder than I should have. Snape. Snape was claiming to be friends with James Potter. James Potter who canonically hated and bullied him. Snape.

Was his brain addled? Was he just lying to try to make me feel better? Or… and the thought made my stomach curdle. Maybe this was a heavy AU instead of a light one. Maybe in this universe Snape was one of the Mauradaurs and they bullied Lupin or something.

Snape continued. “There were seven of us: your father, James, and mother, Lily; Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, myself, and the Black siblings – Sirius and Regulus. When you were born, the Potters were very involved in the war, you must understand. We all were. No one knew who would survive, if any of us. So the night your parents were attacked was also the night they finalized their will, including who would be your godfather.”

I tried to absorb this information. Regulus had been one of them, too? Was he still alive?

“Unfortunately, the will has been Sealed by the Wizgamot and cannot be opened until you reach adulthood.” Snape finished bitterly. “This, in my opinion, is a disservice to James’ memory and his last wishes that you remain among people he trusts.”

I stared at my hands, grappling with my natural urges to start asking questions I shouldn’t, demanding information that would just cause problems. When I looked up, Snape was studying me with an odd look on his face.

“I am aware your living situation is unsatisfactory.” He said, before I could ask the question on the tip of my tongue. “Believe me, I know what that is like.” A shadowy, haunted look touched his eyes briefly. “I will do my best to ensure your summers there are at least tolerable, at least until such a point as I can arrange a more suitable guardian.”

I nodded and we lapsed into an uncomfortable sort of silence.

“Why was the will sealed?” I asked after several minutes.

Snape’s mouth quirked into a frown. “Some people in powerful positions wanted the opportunity to do with your life what they saw fit.”

That… seemed like a terribly heavy thing to say to an eleven-year-old. The scowl on Snape’s face encouraged me to not ask any more questions, so I stared out the window until we reached our stop.

^^^^^^^^^^

The look on the Dursley’s face when they opened their door to find me and Snape standing there was entertaining. The way he calmly pushed his way inside and ushered them into the living room like disobedient puppies certainly put a smile on my face.

“Your treatment of your nephew is unacceptable.” Snape said as soon as the Dursleys were sitting. He drew his wand and Petunia flinched. A thin smile spread across Snape’s face. “I am placing a ward on Harry; it will notify me if any of you physically harm him. To prevent further strain on your finances, a house elf will bring him his meals. I’m assuming it _is_ money difficulties keeping you from feeding him properly?”

Vernon looked more terrified than I’d ever seen him. “Y-yes.” He stuttered.

“Excellent.” He turned toward me and procured an envelope from his robes. “This has your train ticket and instructions. First of September, King’s Cross. I imagine the Dursleys will be happy to bring you there. Now, show me your room.”

It took me a moment to remember how to move. I led him, under the Dursley’s horrified eyes, to the cupboard under the stairs. “This is where I sleep. They offered me the second bedroom, but it’s cozier down here. It’s right near the air conditioning vent, see.” I pointed at the vent. “I guess we can keep my things in the bedroom, though, there’s more room in there.”

Up the stairs we went, and Snape’s expression was carefully blank as I showed him Dudley’s second bedroom.

“I suppose this will have to do.” Snape said, glancing witheringly at the piles of abandoned toys. With a flick of his wand, the toys shuffled into a neat pile in the corner; with another flick, today’s purchases settled onto the bare floor and grew to their normal sizes. Snape gave the selection a deeply disappointed look. “See to it you study your books and practice your handwriting,” he told me, sweeping out of the room as if it had personally offended him. “I expect great things of you.”

And he Apparated with a nasty crack, leaving me on the stairs staring dumbly at where he’d been standing.

^^^^^^^^^^

I spent the next month mostly in my room. Food appeared while I wasn’t looking, as if whatever house elf assigned to me was under orders to not be seen. I took the time I had to study the books carefully, doing my best to commit the core elements to memory. I didn’t want to seem like a know-it-all, but I did want to perform well.

The beginners quill kit, I worked with diligently, with mixed success. It was readable, mostly, but I wasn’t very fast with it. Not being good at things quickly, I discovered, was particularly irksome. I was technically almost thirty – I was supposed to be better than everyone else at this sort of thing.

The godfather issue – including the Will and the problem of Wormtail – I reluctantly decided to let play out. As tempting as it was to meddle, I _needed_ the comfort of knowing how things would play out. Further, I couldn’t really afford trying to explain to anyone why I knew Sirius was innocent, or where Pettigrew was.

Finally, it was September first. I flung myself out of bed and raced up the stairs to the second bedroom to pack. My truck was sitting off to the side where I’d left it and I began carefully organizing my books and things in the various compartments. I’d already checked for secret compartments or leftover things from my grandfather’s day – there were none, to my disappointment.

When I reached for my clothes to change, my breakfast tray was sitting on the floor next to them.

“Thanks,” I told the empty air, abandoning my task to eat. The past month I’d eaten more than I was used to, which had the interesting side effect of making it a lot harder to ignore my hunger. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

I changed quickly, packed Rosy and her things into the ‘living creature’ compartment – clearly marked, thankfully – and then dragged my truck down the stairs to wait for the Walrus to wake up.

He came down at eight sharp, groggy and in a foul mood. “Come on, boy.” He spat, getting his coat and keys. “The sooner we get there, the sooner I’ll be rid of you.”

Two hours later, we were pulling into King’s Cross. I hopped out and grabbed my trunk. “Thank you! I’ll see you next summer!” Perhaps I was a bit too cheerful, because Vernon pulled away from the curb wordlessly, with a squeal of rubber. I watched his car disappear into traffic and then headed into the station.

I trailed toward platforms nine and ten, looking around for groups of suspicious-looking redheads. Surely the Weasleys would be here – surely that wasn’t another thing that would change.

I reached the barrier, no Weasleys in sight. But there was nothing for it; waiting around for them would look… well, not suspicious to them, but certainly to the people in the station. I was already getting a few strange looks. So, with a grimace and one last longing look around, I sidestepped through into platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Smoke from the engine swirled in the air above the chattering groups of people. Cats of every color and breed wound between peoples’ legs, seemingly on their own agenda. The platform was full of noise: chattering voices, owls hooting, the scrape of luggage.

I walked through the crowds slowly, taking in the atmosphere and also keeping my eyes peeled for either Malfoy or Zabini. I saw neither, so I started toward the end of the train to get a compartment.

Many of the compartments had people in them, mostly older ones. A lot of them looked quite bored. I wondered about sitting in an already occupied compartment until I remembered, sourly, I was technically eleven and would probably end up sitting with children ‘my age’.

With a heavy sigh, I picked an empty compartment at the very back of the train, hauled my truck into it, and settled down to wait. Slogging through _Hogwarts, A History_ passed the time reasonably well, although I had opinions about whoever wrote it. How anyone could make a literally magic castle hundreds of years old sound so absolutely dry and boring… that took skill. And not the good sort.

Abruptly, my compartment door banged open. “ _Here_ you are! We’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you!”

It was Blaise.

He was in the doorway, Draco and an unfamiliar boy right behind him. I was trapped, unless the window was an option.

Blaise bounced in and threw himself onto the bench across from me. “Are you excited? I’m excited! I’ve never had anyone to sit with on a train before!”

“You’ve never been on a train before, Blaise.” Draco sighed, following him in. He turned to me. “This is Theodore Nott.”

I eyed him. Theodore Nott was a tall, willowy boy possessing neither notable features nor any particular beauty.

“Harry Potter.” I replied, and offered my hand because it was the polite thing to do.

He smiled winsomely and shook it with a limp hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

I nodded awkwardly and glanced at Draco. “D’you wanna sit down?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Draco sat and gestured Theo down next to him.

“Anyway!” Blaise said, leaning forward enthusiastically. “I brought cards so we can play Snap or Bogo-gruff! Or we can --”

The compartment door slid open again. I glanced up.

It was Ron – it had to be. He was redheaded, tall and thin, with freckles and a long nose. He gestured to the seat next to me. “Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full.”

I shrugged. “You’re welcome to it.” I eyed Draco, wondering what his reaction would be.

Draco and Blaise were both staring in mild horror at Ron as he sat down. So they apparently were still upset over blood lineage. Oh, well.

“I’m Harry Potter,” I told Ron, offering my hand.

“Ron.” He replied. “Ron Weasley.” And he shook my hand.

His hand was cold; freezing cold. He smiled brightly at me. “So, Harry Potter. Wow! Do you have the, you know…” He gestured to his forehead. “Scar?”

I nodded, pushing my fringe aside so he could ogle the uneven, lightning-like lines radiating from my hairline. They stood out against my skin, rough to the touch, and spread down almost to my eyebrows. Very different from the single jagged line shown in the movies.

“Blimey…” Ron breathed. “That’s wicked. Were you really raised by Mugs, then?”

Mugs, I guessed, was a shortening of Muggleborn. “Yeah.” I shrugged.

“What’s that like?” Ron leaned forward, obviously finding the idea fascinating.

“Um…” I eyed him uncertainly. “Not great. My aunt and uncle aren’t exactly… _understanding_ of my…” I waved a hand around to encompass the whole of the magical world. “You know. But it’s fine.” And it was. I’d deal. It was the way it was for a reason; no way in hell I was going to risk messing up the canon by escaping or something. Everything was too weird as it was. No, it was best if it played out properly.

“Wow.” Ron said again. “My whole family’s wizards so I can’t imagine -- ” He shook his head. “Mugs. They’re crazy, am I right?” He said to the three purebloods across from us.

None of them replied. Blaise in particular seemed to be trying to blend in with the window.

The compartment door opened again and two unruly redheads stuck their heads in. It was the twins.

“Listen, we’re going down to the middle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right.” Ron nodded. “Catch you later, then.”

The twins vanished, presumably to go torture the tarantula.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Ron said with another slightly awkward smile. “Those were two of my brothers, Fred and George. They’re twins – um, I guess you probably noticed that.”

“How many brothers do you have?” I asked.

“Five.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m sixth in the family. All my siblings are at Hogwarts – Bill’s a prefect this year. Charlie’s a fourth year, Seeker on the Quidditch team, and Percy’s a third year already planning on being Head Boy. The twins only started last year, but Fred got O’s in everything.” This was delivered with a good deal pride in his siblings’ accomplishments.

“Big shoes to fill, then, I suppose.” I noted blandly, eying the other eleven-year-olds. Draco looked incredibly uncomfortable, like he wanted to leave the compartment altogether. Blaise was barely there, having semi-successfully managed to blend into the bench.

Ron shrugged. “It’s alright. The only real downside to a large family is you never get anything new. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was asleep.

“His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless. He doesn’t really wake up. Dad reckons he’s the result of some sort of illegal animal transformation experiment, ‘cause he’s really old and has a wonky magical signature.” Ron poked the rat with some amusement.

“My father always said it was illegal to keep the results of illegal experiments.” Draco said bravely, eying the rat with extreme distrust.

Ron tilted his head, expression smoothing into blankness, and gave Draco a heavy, considering look, a strange, almost predatory gleam in his eye as he tapped the sleeping rat with his wand. “And you repeat everything your father says, do you?” There was a cold edge to the words and too late I remembered the scene from book two where Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy started a fight in the bookstore.

Maybe I should separate them.

Draco sat up straighter, jutting his chin in the manner of an arrogant child. “And if I do?”

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing; something about the taut silence suggested it might be a dangerous thing to do. Something about the way Ron held Draco’s eyes like a cat staring down a particularly stupid mouse, or the way Theodore had inconspicuously pulled his wand from his pocket.

The train started moving, pulling away from the station and all that was familiar, and just like that, the tension vanished as all of us instinctively turned toward the window to watch silently, almost solemnly, as the train carried us away from London and into the countryside, the city sights replaced quickly with rolling green hills dotted with trees and sheep and cottages, lanes and fields in equal measure blurring into each other, until the only constant was the grey-blue sky stretching up from the horizon line like a smooth bowl over the entire world.

I missed, suddenly, the sunny desert skies of Arizona, missed my red, dirty, loud city home and the heat and the dust-wash and long hours in class and pages of notes and the endless essays no one read and the monotony of the twenty-first century, with its mindless bustle and screaming children lined the streets grabbing what they could with grimy hands, determined to make America a saint-home again, while the horrors that be stare down from their cruel thrones mouthing the words to Halsey’s _Bad Boy._

It was a strange thought, almost completely indecipherable. With a heavy sigh, I picked up my book and tried to focus on the drab paragraphs describing the way the stones of Hogwarts were cut and carried from the quarries. The others in the compartment sat quietly for a long while.

At about half past twelve, there was a great clattering in the hallway and a smiling, dimpled woman slid open our compartment door. “Anything off the cart, my dears?” She asked.

I, not having eaten since breakfast and ecstatic at the chance to actually try wizard candy, leapt to my feet and kicked Blaise and Draco lightly in the shins. “Come on, you guys! I’ve never had any sort of wizard candy, you need to tell me what’s good!” My invitation was directed toward Ron and Theodore as well, and the five of us piled out into the hallway with a good bit of commotion, much to the trolley lady’s obvious amusement.

The cart held a large variety of brightly colored packaged candies, most of which had cheerful images moving across them. There were things that looked like taffy or licorice or lollipops, and then there were less recognizable things. The names – Velveteen Delights, Jiggle-nauts, Endless Snake, and Harpy Chews, to name a few – didn’t exactly give me any hints as to what they might taste like.

“Oh! You have to get some of these! And those! And – oh, these too!” Blaise squeaked, grabbing an armful of completely unrecognizable things from the trolley. He paid and tossed the packages back into the compartment. “Do you like cinnamon?”

Mystified, I nodded.

Draco, not to be outdone, flicked his platinum hair out of his eyes and fixed the trolley lady with his most winning smile. “I’d like a little of everything.” He then dumped what looked like an obscene number of Galleons into her hand with a mildly challenging look at Ron.

“Keep the change,” Draco added blandly as he collected what he wanted from the cart.

Ron, sneering a little, moved over to where I was staring blankly at the selections. “Those are multi-flavored taffies.” He told me, gesturing to the mystifying Harpy Chews. “They turn your mouth colors, too.”

“Oh.” I nodded. “Thanks.” I took a couple packages, holding them awkwardly as I looked over the rest of the cart. Draco and Blaise appeared to be trying to cajole Theodore into getting and trying some Cricket Clusters. I glanced back at Ron. “D’you want anything? I’m not sure what to get, so you can pick out whatever.” I tried to give him an encouraging smile.

He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Well, um, I mean, can I get some Chocolate Frogs? I’m collecting the cards.”

“Sure!” I gestured broadly. “Get as many as you want!”

Ron quirked his eyebrow a bit, but began methodically taking Chocolate Frogs and stacking them in my arms. He slowed a bit halfway through, giving me an uncertain look. I offered him a bright grin, silently encouraging him to continue. He did, finishing taking all of them, leaving a bizarre-looking empty spot on the cart.

I turned to the trolley lady. “Can I set these down to get my money?”

She looked on the verge of laughing. “Of course, dear.”

I cheerfully ducked into the compartment and deposited my goods onto the already large pile of packages. Chocolate Frogs spilled across the bench and onto the floor as I turned to pay the good lady.

But as I started to hand her my money, she waved me off. “No need; your friend gave me more than enough to cover everything.”

“Oh.” I thought about the amount of Galleons Draco had given her. “Okay. Thank you!”

“Enjoy the rest of the trip,” She said with another dimpled smile, and then turned to inform some edgy-looking thirteen-year-olds that she was, in fact, out of Chocolate Frogs.

I followed Ron back into the compartment to gorge myself sick on candy.


	6. In The Meantime: Severus and McGonagall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Side scene in which Severus and McGonagall have a discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A SIDE SCENE  
> IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ IT YOU DON'T HAVE TO  
> This will give you (the reader) insight on things the main character doesn't know  
> If you don't want to read this, you can find things out at the same pace as him  
> But it does have some plot stuff in it  
> If you hate that I posted this as its own chapter and want me to move it into a collection of side scenes, let me know

“What have I gotten myself into?” Severus sighed into his hands, massaging his temples as if it would make his blinding headache somehow disappear.

“I’m quite sure I have no clue.” Professor McGonagall said, a touch tartly. “Tea?”

Severus nodded absently. He was currently in McGonagall’s office for their much-needed weekly conference, and he knew it was much-needed because all the furniture was covered in a light layer of cat hair. The Professor only spent a lot of time in her Animagus form if Dumbledore was on the loose.

“Now,” She said as she added a generous dollop of whiskey to the teacup before handing it to him, “How were the Dursleys?”

Severus pressed his lips together. “You were right about them being the worst sort of Muggles.” He told her, shortly, about the cupboard under the stairs and the hostility of Vernon in the seaside shack.

Professor McGonagall’s eyes were absolutely icy by the time he was finished. “ _Dumbledore_.” She hissed, making Severus stiffen. Even ten years out of her classroom, he was wary of her anger.

She took a deep draught of her tea and calmed herself. “And Harry?”

Severus sipped his tea cautiously; the past few weeks it had been more alcohol than Earl Grey. Tonight seemed to be no exception. He was postponing answering, trying to formulate an answer that would satisfy the Professor while still maintaining emotional distance.

“He seems healthy.” He finally said. “He doesn’t know anything about his parents or about the wizarding world, but he adjusted quickly despite that.” His stomach churned at the thought of what Harry _had_ been told about his parents. He would have to find some way to remedy that later. Just… not while Dumbledore was around to stare knowingly at him with twinkling blue eyes.

“Emotionally, Severus.” McGonagall prompted. “That sort of _treatment_ can leave scars, as you well know.”

Severus tightened his Occlumancy shields and tried not to bristle. “He’s independent,” he said shortly. “Used to being on his own. I suspect he may have difficulties adjusting to having adult supervision. His lack of distrust is surprising but equally concerning. Although it worked in our favor that he was so quick to follow me, if he’s willing to run off with anyone claiming to be trustworthy, we may have to keep him on a leash.”

The Professor arched a single eyebrow. “Severus,” she sighed, setting her teacup down.

Severus knew that look and it didn’t bode well for him. He changed the subject smoothly. “What of Dumbledore? Has he revealed this year’s meddlesome plan yet?”

If anything could get McGonagall off topic, it was the Headmaster.

Professor McGonagall let out a sharp hiss. “He has.”

Severus took a long sip of his whiskey-flavored tea and silently beckoned her to continue.

“He plans on luring the Dark Lord to the castle.”

“What?” Severus nearly dropped his teacup. “Here? To Hogwarts?”

McGonagall nodded severely.

“The Philosopher’s Stone?”

“A ruse.” McGonagall stood agitatedly and paced over to the fire. “Meant to distract us from the real bait.”

Severus waited silently.

“The Eden tree, Severus.” McGonagall whirled, eyes flashing. “The _fool_ has hidden the Eden Tree somewhere in the castle, to draw the Dark Lord here!”

“But…” Severus couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, the absolute idiocy of the actions bewildering him to the point of speechlessness.

“If the Dark Lord finds the tree, he’ll be able to regain a body?” The Professor said tartly. “Yes, I imagine that is why Dumbledore is so sure it will draw him.”

Severus felt his headache building. “Why?” He wondered out loud. “Why _now_?” Voldemort had been gone for eleven years; why was Dumbledore baiting him out of hiding _this_ year?

“I believe,” McGonagall said sourly, “he means to _test_ Harry.”

His blood ran cold. “He’s eleven.”

“And he’s Dumbledore’s Boy Who Lived.”

“He’s a child!”

“I am _aware_!”

Severus recoiled, took a breath to steady himself. This wasn’t Minerva’s fault. He bit down the apology on the tip of his tongue. “What can we do?” He asked instead.

Professor McGonagall sighed and sat down. She refilled her teacup from the whiskey bottle. “Keep Harry away from anyone who would influence him one way or another. Minimize Dumbledore’s hold on his life. Get him away from the Dursley’s as soon as possible.”

Severus grimaced. “Dumbledore is his magical guardian.”

“Then we _change_ that.” McGonagall snapped. “We change whatever we can. I will _not_ let Albus Dumbledore turn Harry into a child weapon!” She took a draught from her cup and set it down with a clatter.

A few half-formed ideas twisted through Severus’s head. Lupin, no – the Ministry wouldn’t approve guardianship for a werewolf. Lucius, no – too Dark for Dumbledore to allow. Himself, no – he had no time for a child, nor did the Professor. If only Sirius hadn’t gotten himself thrown into Azkaban.

And that thought too put a sour taste into Severus’s mouth. He knew it was the Headmaster’s meddling, he _knew_ it, but he was powerless to fight back. Without any leverage – and the fact that Sirius was the Lord Black didn’t, apparently, count as leverage – he couldn’t even petition to bring the case before the court. If only…

“We need Harry’s Will unsealed.”

That seemed to catch McGonagall off guard. “What do you have in mind?”

Severus frowned. “Harry’s godfather would be able to claim magical guardianship over him. Unfortunately, Dumbledore is insistent the will remain Sealed until Harry reaches maturity.”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. “I am not as influential as the Headmaster, but I can do my fair share of meddling. I will speak to the goblins.”

Severus nodded in thanks. “I will keep an eye on Harry; whatever Dumbledore has planned, it will be a pleasure to undermine.”

“I imagine we will both be keeping our eyes on him, as often as we can spare.” McGonagall said, voice dry. “But I understand your investment is more personal.”

Severus curled his lip. “He’s James’s son. I owe it to his memory to do this much, at least.” _Because I cannot atone for my other sins_ , he didn’t add. _Because he has his mother’s eyes_ , he hardly dared to even think.


	7. Sorting Things Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets some new people, makes it to Hogwarts, and is sorted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! Betcha thought you'd seen the last of me for today! Nope!  
> Here you go -- because I love you  
> Thank you so much to all you people who bookmarked, commented, or left kudos! I am a praise addict and you are my delightful dealers.  
> This chapter diverges our characters, sending them off to their various fates - I made some changes, some more noticeable than others, and if any or all those changes offend you on a personal level, you may stop reading! This is a self-indulgent story and I completely understand that it might not be everyone's piece of cake.  
> If you have questions, comments, or concerns about what direction I'm taking this, you can contact me: shadow.mere.writes@gmail.com

Two hours later, the four of us – Theodore had opted out on the feast, claiming he didn’t like sugar – were smeared with chocolate, mouths stained bright colors from the Harpy Chews. Blaise had eaten an entire container of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans by himself, narrating the flavors with excessively descriptive glee, and was now trying to beg Draco into taking a bite of one the accursed Cricket Clusters.

Ron sat in a pile of discarded Chocolate Frog wrappers next to me, chewing thoughtfully on a Blood Pop as he admired his new Agrippa card. He, as far as I knew, had only eaten chocolate and I wasn’t sure how he wasn’t throwing up right now.

I personally felt mildly sick, possibly from the Cricket Cluster I’d eaten under the joint peer pressure of Ron and Blaise. Not enough to regret my decisions, but undulating motion of the train didn’t really help. Outside, the landscape had blurred into wild forest and rivers, no longer tame countryside. I guessed we were getting close.

A tapping on the compartment door drew our attention. I stood and opened it.

And found myself staring into the miserable eyes of a fourteen-year-old Neville Longbottom, recognizable only by his Neville Longbottomness. He was wearing a rumpled Hogwarts uniform emblazoned with the Gryffindor lion.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

Completely caught off guard, I shook my head absently.

“I’ve lost him!” Neville wailed, completely distraught. “He keeps getting away from me!”

“Er,” I ventured, “have you tried asking the prefects? They might be able to Summon him for you.”

Neville fixed me with a horrified look. “And have poor Trevor go flying through the air, bouncing off the walls on his way?” He demanded in an almost whisper.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere, don’t worry.” Ron offered behind me.

At that, Neville did the oddest thing. He turned sheet-white, stammered something unintelligible, and darted away.

I stared after him, mystified. What was that about? I couldn’t help eying Ron surreptitiously; was Neville scared of redheads?

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” Ron mused. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I did bring Scabbers so I suppose I can’t talk.” He scooped the rat out of the pile of wrappers it had burrowed into. It was still asleep.

“He might have died and you wouldn’t know the difference,” he continued, sounding mildly disappointed. “I tried to turn him yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look…”

He procured his wand and had just raised it when the compartment door slid open again. It was a black girl already dressed in her Hogwarts robes.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice and rather large front teeth.

I tried very hard not to stare.

Short-haired nice Snape had been a shock so you’d think I would be able to handle black Hermione Granger.

It still took considerable effort not to just jump up and hug her maniacally while screaming ‘eff you, J. K!”. Of course, that would raise far too many questions about my sanity.

“We already told him we haven’t seen it,” Ron was saying, but Hermione was eying his wand.

“Are you about to do magic? Let’s see it, then.” And she sat down with only the barest glance at Draco and Theodore.

“Er – alright.” Ron cleared his throat.

“ _Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”_

He waved his wand, and, of course, nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” Hermione asked.

Draco cut in with a scoff. “No, of course it’s not.” He sneered at Ron. “My father says you Weasleys are so mixed it’s a wonder any of you can use a wand at all.”

Shots _fired_. I stared between Draco and Ron, who had a very odd expression on his face.

“You’re a Malfoy, aren’t you?” Hermione interjected blithely. “Your family is mentioned in _Heritage of the Sacred Twenty-Eight_ and _Pureblood: A Study of Elitism_. And there was an article about your father serving You-Know-Who. I found it in the archives at Flourish and Blotts.”

This had the oddest effect of actually diffusing the tension. Draco turned his attention to her and gave her a mildly appraising look. “What were you doing in the archives?”

“Well, I was looking for records about what really happened with You-Know-Who – all the recent history books are full of absolute hogwash about some lark named Harry Potter, I’m quite sure they made him up – and I found a lot of things about the Dark families and why the Dark Lord appealed to them – that’s where I found mention of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and of course, I just _had_ to look into those. I’m Hermione Granger, by the way.”

She said all this in one breath, very fast.

“Draco. Draco Malfoy.” Draco said, offering his hand.

Hermione shook it eagerly. “Nice to meet you!”

Draco gestured to Theodore. “This is Theodore Nott.”

Theodore shook Hermione’s hand with a blank, bemused look as she chirped about the Nott house.

“And Harry Potter.” Draco said my name with relish, probably because of Hermione’s throwaway line about me not actually existing.

She spun and stared at me, the surprise on her face almost comical. “Are you really? You’re in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ and they’re all rubbish, did you know?”

I shook my head and made a mental note to find and read any of the books mentioning me, just to figure out what people were saying.

“And there’s an entire children’s book series about you.” Hermione added, giving me the most severe look I’d ever seen on an eleven year old.

“Oh.” I managed. “Um.”

She was already turning to Ron. “And you are?”

“Ron.” Ron said, hastily shoving his wand in his pocket so he could shake her hand.

“Oh, and – ”

But whatever Hermione had been about to say was drowned out by a terrifically loud whistle.

“Oh!” Hermione jumped to her feet. “That means we’ll be there in fifteen minutes – you really ought to put your robes on!” And she left, compartment door shutting with a clatter behind her.

“Wow.” I said, nodding blankly. “Are all wizard girls like that?”

“They’re called witches,” Draco said, “and no.”

^^^^^^^^^^

Fifteen minutes later, the train had come to a full stop and we were pushing our way down the packed corridor and out onto a tiny, dark platform. The night air was shockingly cold and I shivered involuntarily. Malnourishment meant I didn’t have enough body fat to properly insulate me; hopefully having three meals a day would work to remedy that.

A lamp came bobbing over the students heads and a vaguely familiar voice called out. “Firs’ years! Firs’ years, over here!”

It was Hagrid, his dark bulk impossible to miss as he towered over us. He was scanning the children as if searching for a specific person. Me, I realized quickly, and nervously raked my bangs over my forehead.

“C’mon, follow me – any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

Slipping a bit on the steep, narrow path, I followed the crowd of children into the darkness. Hagrid’s lamp was the only source of light.

“Yeh’ll get your firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

There was a loud, collective “Oooooh!”

The narrow path had opened out suddenly, onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a mountainous hill on the other side, windows bright and inviting, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

Hogwarts.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was like love at first sight; the beach, the children, the lake – it all faded away. The only things in the world were me and this stunning magical thing, the brightest, warmest thing I’d seen in either of my lives.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, breaking me out of my revere.

“Come on,” Draco hissed, grabbing me by the arm and starting to drag me down the beach toward the little boats bobbing in the water.

I clambered into the boat gingerly, mindful of the freezing cold water, and was quickly followed by Draco, Blaise, and Theodore.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said coolly to Ron, who was left standing on the beach. “There isn’t any more room in this one.”

I winced inwardly as Ron’s face fell and he wandered away.

“What’s with you and him?” I demanded of Draco.

He sneered slightly in response, reminding me vividly of the angsty teenager he was eventually going to become. “Harry, in the wizarding world you’ll soon find out some families are better than others.” He scowled in the direction Ron had disappeared in. “And my father says the Weasleys are the worst of the lot.”

“He seemed really nice.” I protested.

“A lot of people are nice, Harry,” Blaise interjected. “But not all people are worth you being nice back. Least of all the Weasleys. Draco’s right, they’ve got a really nasty reputation.”

I stared between them. “Why, what did they do?”

Draco and Blaise exchanged looks.

“Everyone in?” Hagrid roared from farther down the shore. “Right then – FORWARD!”

And before I could weasel any more information out of Draco or Blaise, the little boats set off all at once. The surface of the lake was smooth as glass, so black you could see your reflection in it. The silence felt profound as we all gaped up at the giant castle overhead. It looked down on us as we sailed nearer and nearer the cliff on which it stood.

“Heads down!” Yelled Hagrid as the first of the boats reached the cliff.

We all bent our heads as the little boats carried us through the curtain of ivy and into a wide, dark tunnel. The tunnel meandered until it reached a kind of underground harbor, where we beached and clambered out of the boats onto the pebbled shore.

It was then, as we trailed up a dark stairway after Hagrid’s bobbing lamp, that my anxiety caught up with me. What if… what if I put the hat on and it realized exactly what had happened to me? What if it called me out in front of everyone and made me go back to the Dursleys? What if it sent me right back into my old body?

That wouldn’t be terrible, but... I wanted to learn magic! And what was I going to do if they kicked me out and refused to let me learn magic? What if I couldn’t even _do_ magic? What if I was awful with a wand?

I sunk into myself, staying close to Draco and Blaise, as Hagrid knocked three times on the giant wooden castle doors. They opened immediately, revealing McGonagall. Her silvery-black hair was pulled back into a severe bun and she frowned slightly at us, as if mildly disappointed.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall.” Hagrid said.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was as big as a house, its stone walls lit with flaming torches. The ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing us led to the upper floors.

We followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. I could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must have arrived already – but Professor McGonagall showed us into a small, empty chamber off the hall. We crowded in, standing closer than necessary, and I was oddly glad to duck my head and avoid her sharp eyes as she scanned us.

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” She began. “The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

I self-consciously tugged on my robes and smoothed my bangs down to hide my scar.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

She left the chamber.

I didn’t think much about the practiced speech – it was pretty standard. I _did_ think something of the twenty-something ghosts that slid through the back wall shortly after she left.

“What are _those_?” I demanded of Blaise in a whisper, only to realize the person to my left was not, in fact, Blaise, but a random kid.

He gave me a friendly sort of a smile. “They’re ghosts. Are you a muggleborn?”

I nodded absently, watching the pearly white and semi-transparent people float across the room.

“They’re dead people whose spirits clung to this world instead of the next.” The boy continued his quiet explanation. “Hogwarts has lots of them.”

“I say,” said one of the ghosts, peering down at us. “What are you doing here?”

No one said anything.

“New students!” The plump monk said with a beaming smile. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?”

A few people nodded mutely.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the ghost. “My old house, you know.”

“Move along.” McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the silence. “The ceremony’s about to start.”

We filed into a line at her crisp command, and then we were trickling into the Great Hall.

It was…

Warm. Bright. Welcoming. Loud with laughter and excitement and movement of children at the long tables.

It was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles floating in the air, smokeless, with steady flames. The velvety black ceiling was dotted with stars, making it almost hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all and that the Great Hall didn’t just open right into the heavens.

I’d never even wanted to look at the stars before, but suddenly it was hard to drag my eyes back to where the Sorting Hat sat, rumpled and ripped, on the stool in front of us.

As I stared, it twitched. A rip near the brim opened up like a mouth and it began to sing.

_Oh, you may not think I’m pretty_

_But don’t judge on what you see_

_I’ll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me_

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall_

_For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all_

_There’s nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can’t see_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be_

_You might belong in Gryffindor_

_If you’ve a selfless heart_

_Chivalry and courage_

_Set Gryffindors apart_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff_

_With the stubborn and loyal_

_The compassionate and patient_

_And unafraid of toil_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw_

_If you’ve a thirsty mind_

_Where those with curiosity_

_Will always find their kind_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_The most cunning of the lot_

_The ambitious stick together_

_And that’s all Slytherin’s got_

_So put me on, don’t be afraid_

_And don’t get in a flap_

_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I’m a Thinking Cap!_

The whole room burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said.

I leaned back on my heels and subtly eyed each of the four tables, wondering – in a sick, worried sort of way – if I even belonged at any of them.

Maybe the hat wouldn’t be able to sort me; after all, I wasn’t really eleven, was I?

I tuned back into the Sorting as Hermione was sorted, quite quickly, into Gryffindor.

Draco was called up a few people later, and the hat had barely touched his head before it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!” He gave a smug smirk as he headed for their table.

I clapped obligingly and tried not to notice I was one of the very few who did.

Goddamn Slytherin prejudice.

Theodore, too, got sorted into Slytherin; he didn’t look particularly surprised. In fact, his face didn’t really change at all.

And then there was “Parkinson”…”Patil” and “Patil”… then “Perks, Sally-Anne” and at last –

“Potter, Harry!”

I stepped forward as whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“ _Potter,_ did she say?”

“ _The_ Harry Potter?”

The last thing I saw before the hat dropped over my eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at me. Next second I was staring at the blank inside of the hat. I waited.

“Hmm,” said a small voice next to my ear. “Quite a situation you’ve gotten yourself into, isn’t it, Noah?”

I flinched at my real name, a wave of melancholy homesickness travelling through me like a tangible thing.

“You’re right that I’m not made for sorting developed folk,” the hat continued blithely. “But you do have a very good mind. There’s talent, oh goodness yes, and a nice thirst to prove yourself… So, where shall I put you?”

I gripped the edges of the stool. _Somewhere I belong, please, just somewhere I’ll fit in._ I didn’t want to have to squabble with people all the time, didn’t want to have to try to fit into the hierarchy. Certainly didn’t want to be bothered about my fame. If the hat put me into Gryffindor I would have to stage a coup.

“Well… if you’re sure…” The hat hummed. “Better be HUFFLEPUFF!”

I heard the last word echo across the whole hall. I stood numbly, took off the hat, and walked toward the Hufflepuff table. They were cheering. The whole room was, but they were cheering the loudest.

A few people shook my hand and I found myself sitting opposite the cheerful boy who’d told me about the ghosts.

The Sorting was still happening, so I watched anxiously for Ron and Blaise.

Ron was sorted, rather predictably, into Gryffindor.

And then…

“Zabini, Blaise.” Professor McGonagall called, sounding puzzled. She glanced around.

“That’s odd.” One of the people next to me commented. “There’s not usually a no-show.”

I stared at Blaise, standing alone in front of the school, clearly visible. His shoulders were hunched and I couldn’t see his face.

“I’m right here, ma’am.” He said loudly, stepping up to the stool.

McGonagall looked surprised as he put the hat on, and even more surprised when, after an agonizing minute, the hat called out, “RAVENCLAW!”

I cheered as loudly as I could over the polite, confused clapping, and was gratified to see the shy smile that crept onto Blaise’s face as he sat.


	8. The Sett

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry starts getting settled in, and figures out what's up with the Weasleys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So -- yeah  
> Thank you so much to everyone who bookmarked, commented, or left kudos, you make my day!!  
> This idea is a really specific one - I know I'll probably make some people mad with what I do to certain characters, but I promise I am not bashing (it's tagged). I'm trying to really explore how much of this world I can completely change, as well as the effects it would have on someone who thinks they know how everything is supposed to go. If it's not the sort of thing you want to read, I totally understand  
> If you have questions or comments, please leave a comment or contact me at shadow.mere.writes@gmail.com

As the feast commenced, I found myself subjected to the attention of the other eleven-year-olds at the table.

“I’m Hannah,”

“Susan,”

“Justin,”

“Megan,”

“Wayne,”

“Ernie,”

“Leanne,”

“Zacharias, but my friends call me Zach,”

I nodded and smiled as politely as I could. “Harry.”

“Harry Potter.” Zacharias repeated, leaning forward. “D’you have a scar?”

“Really, let’s not pester Harry with uncomfortable questions,” the boy next to him interrupted before I could reply. It was the cheerful blond who’d told me about the ghosts. He turned to me with a smile. “I’m Cedric, by the way.”

I returned the smile awkwardly. “I guess you already know who I am.”

Cedric grinned at that. “Yeah, you’re kind of famous.”

I started to fill my plate with food. “It would’ve been nice to know that before I got here,”

“You didn’t know before?” One of the girls, Leanne, asked. “But what about all the adventures you went on? From the books?”

I eyed her warily. “There’s books about me?”

“Yeah, a whole series. It’s a load of rubbish, obviously,” Zacharias put in, giving Leanne a pretty judgmental look for an eleven-year-old.

Leanne ducked her head and mumbled something I didn’t catch.

I risked turning slightly to glance around the rest of the room. Hermione, at the Gryffindor table, was surrounded by redheads – Ron’s family, I guessed – and the rest of the table seemed to be giving them wide berth. Past them, I could see Blaise at Ravenclaw, talking animatedly to what were presumably other Ravenclaws. Draco wasn’t visible from where I was sitting, too many heads between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff table, so I turned my attention to the Staff table.

And immediately locked eyes with a pale, nervous young man wearing an alarmingly large purple turban in what could be considered a hideous act of cultural appropriation.

The realization that this was Quirrellmort gave me a sickening jolt; plot was happening and I was going to be involved with it. That man – he couldn’t have been older than twenty five – had a Dark Lord on the back of his head. A Dark Lord who wanted me dead. It was a novel experience, and not a particularly pleasant one.

Quirrell was sitting next to an unfamiliar, dark-haired man. Snape sat on his other side and was in what appeared to be a deep, intense conversation with Professor McGonagall. The unfamiliar man glanced up as Quirrell looked away, and his eyes scanned across the student body. They didn’t linger on me, but I got a strange feeling anyway, a sort of pressure on my skull.

I turned back to my plate, unnerved. The pork chop and mashed potatoes suddenly looked a lot less appetizing.

The meandering chatter of the children washed over me, white noise. I tried to focus on the metal of the fork, the food I forced myself to mechanically chew and swallow, the cloying sweetness of the pumpkin juice that left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Finally, dinner and dessert were both finished and Dumbledore called my attention to him by standing. The hall fell silent.

“Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch – ” and here Dumbledore had to pause for a moment, as such a loud roar came from the Gryffindor table it completely drowned him out. “trials,” Dumbledore continued once the hall was quiet again, as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house – ” again, another great shout from the Gryffindors – “should contact Madam Hooch.”

“The first PAM meeting of the year will be held on Wednesday, in the designated meeting room on the second floor, eastern corridor. All Muggle-born and Muggle-raised first years are encouraged to come. I believe Ms. Burbage promised snacks.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

The hall was dead quiet. I glanced at the older Hufflepuffs. Their faces were drawn and grave, and a few began whispering urgently to each other.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Cried Dumbledore. He gave his wand a flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

What followed was a disastrous cacophony of eager voices at various decibels.

I watched the gold-ribbon letters oozing through the air and decided not to join.

At last, the noise began to end as students dropped away one by one, until only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a dreary funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they finished, he clapped the loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here!”

I silently disagreed.

“And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

At that, the Hufflepuff table rose all at once, in time, like soldiers. We first years were late, scuffling to get up and follow the rest as they filed neatly out of the Great Hall.

They marched steadily through the corridors, in two neat lines, absolutely silent. I didn’t know what was going on, but there was a somberness in the air and something told me now wasn’t the time to ask questions.

We snaked down many sets of stairs, stopping on one and waiting as it swung – heartstoppingly – through the air to a different hallway. I didn’t know who was leading my line; all I could see was the back of the person in front of me.

We walked a long time, deeper and deeper into the castle. I’d lost track of all the turns we’d made a while ago, but I knew from the dark and the damp we must be nearing the dungeon levels.

And then we were going down a spiral staircase narrow enough I was practically rubbing shoulders with the kid next to me. It was dark enough I could barely make out the back of the person in front of me, couldn’t see the stairs. There was a panic to the situation: being crowded, not knowing what was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, not being able to see. Turning back wasn’t a choice.

All I could do, even as the stairs turned into a flat, black hallway, was blindly move forward.

And then there was a light ahead, a warm, golden light, spilling across the walls and ceiling, giving the people in front of me a halo.

All at once, I was stepping through a large, circular opening into the light. As I blinked away the last of the shadows, I found the whole of the Hufflepuff house was standing in a circle from the sides of the round door. They were grinning broadly, proudly even, and gesturing us silently in. A strong, confusing, feeling rose up in me as I stepped into the circle, my fellow first years crowding up next to me. I felt very small and also safe, as the door slid shut and the seventh years in front of me parted to allow a short, plump older woman to step through.

She smiled, too, with her whole face, in a crinkly, welcoming way. “Welcome, my young badgers, to your new sett. My name is Pomona Sprout, I am the Head of this House and while you are under my charge I vow by my magic to take care of you to the best of my ability. So mote be it.” Her wand flared brightly to signify the vow, and the air settled heavily after, like I could feel the weight of the promise.

“It’s my desire that this House be your family while you are here, and that the Sett be a home to you.” Pomona continued. “This is meant to be a safe place for all the Badgers, and we must all do our part to keep it that way. Discrimination and hate speech will not be tolerated. Differing opinions are to be dealt with peaceably or kept out of the Sett. Although it is impossible to get along with each other all the time, I’d ask that any interpersonal conflicts be dealt with sooner rather than later.

“The common room is a shared area and we are all responsible for it. Please take care of it. Your dorm rooms, too, are shared. The house elves do not clean, so you will be responsible to keep your own areas tidy.

“We are here at Hogwarts to learn; if you need help, ask for help. We have scheduled study groups for year and subject, and additional tutoring will be arranged if you need it. We understand, here in the Sett, that some people learn differently than others. There’s no shame in that.

“Finally; Hogwarts has its rules against mischief and troublemaking. If you are caught, you will serve whatever punishment you are given. I will address such behavior if, and only if, it has caused injury to others.” And here, Pomona’s face turned serious. “I will never punish you for standing up for yourself or another student.”

Six students stepped forward from behind her. “We are the Hufflepuff prefects.” Said the seventh year boy. The pin on his chest said Head Boy. “We’re here to help with whatever you need, be it tutoring, scheduling, extracurricular activities such as Quidditch or the many school clubs, or simply someone to help you sneak into the kitchens for a midnight snack.” He gave a wry smile. “My name is Gabriel Truman, I am Head Boy. These are my fellow prefects – Colette Stone, Luca West, Shannon Kent, Eli Prescott, and Libby Thornton.”

“I suggest you memorize our names,” Said the sixth year boy, Luca, “so you have an easier time picking one to scream when you’re being chased by the dungeon bat.” He gave a sharp grin.

Gabriel gave him a tired look. I guessed the two were either friends or enemies. Judging by the general feel of the House, it was probably the former.

“First years, the prefects will bring you to your dorms now.” Pomona said with a gentle smile at us. Somehow, it didn’t feel patronizing.

“Guys with us,” Gabriel said, waving us after him. “Ladies with the ladies.”

The guys dorms were down one of the tunnels off the main room. The first years door was the last one. The three prefects ushered us in.

“This is where you’ll be staying for your seven years here at Hogwarts. Take care of it. Dorm-charms are allowed, with permission from a prefect or Sprout. If you first years want something changed, as one of us and we’ll help you out.” Gabriel said. “We’ll be out in the common room if you need help settling in, but we’ll leave you to it.”

I stared around the large, octagonal room. The walls and floorboards were the same smooth, honey-colored wood. Heavy knit rugs of various sizes covered most of the floor. Tall rectangular windows were set high in the domed ceiling, through which the starry sky could be seen. A large fireplace was built into the wall opposite the exit, the fire in it crackling merrily. The door next to the fireplace was open into a large, well-lit bathroom. The beds, one against each other wall, were canopied in colorful woven patterns and were all made with an alarming multitude of pillows and quilts, no two alike.

I turned around and around, drinking in the soft atmosphere. “This…” I said out loud, “is possibly the best place I have ever been in my life.”

Next to me, Cedric made a noise of agreement.

With the first contented sigh since I’d woken up as Harry Potter, I went through the motions of getting ready for bed, crawled under the soft covers, and fell straight to sleep.

^^^^^^^^^^

“There, look.”

“Where?”

“Next to the tall kid with the red hear.”

“Wearing the glasses?”

“Did you see his face?”

“Did you see his scar?”

That was the sort of whispering that followed me all the next day as I tried to eat breakfast. I sat at the Gryffindor table with Ron, having been given permission by Gabriel. As it turned out, there wasn’t any rule saying you had to sit at your house table. In fact, the Hufflepuff table was quite sparsely populated.

Ron introduced me to his brothers, which went like this:

“And this is Fred,”

“Hi, Harry Potter!”

“And this is George,”

“Hi, Harry Potter!”

“And this is Percy,”

“Hi, Harry Potter!”

“And this is Charlie,”

“Hi, Harry Potter!”

“And this is Bill.”

“Hullo.”

Bill, I decided, was the coolest brother.

It was at this point that Hermione came in. She stalked toward us like a woman on a mission. The Weasley brothers cleared in front of her.

“Weasleys.” She said in a voice that brokered no argument. “Talk. Now.”

And she sat and helped herself to some toast.

I glanced from serious face to serious face, mad curious about what they could be talking about.

“Well, you see…” Bill began, running a hand through his hair and mussing it dreadfully, “it happened like this.

“When dad was sixteen, he had an accident – a run in with a nasty piece of work, up in Romania – came away from it, y’know, changed. He and mum had already met, and well, the Prewett line already had some Dark Creature blood in it, so they married.” Bill shrugged, like this explained everything, but Hermione had narrowed her eyes.

“And you.” She prompted, waving a hand at the Weasley boys.

“Um, well,” Bill swam, flustered.

“Ministry restrictions on Dark Creatures breeding,” Charlie cut in, bland and calm. “We’re blood adopted – Muggle-spawn, or else babs with too much creature blood in us to be adopted by a respectable family.” He tilted his head, dark eyes a little too predator to be open. “By the Ministry, we’re technically half bloodsucker, but the dietary restrictions aren’t too bad.”

“You’re vampires?” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could help it.

“Well, that’s a sticky matter, Harry,” Fred said.

“But the not sticky bit of it is yes,” George finished with a grin.

Oh. Well. That explained Draco’s hostility, I guessed. My child-of-a-literal-Death-Eater friend was also racist. Why was I surprised. While I reflected on this, Hermione continued her interrogation of the Weasleys. Her questions mostly focused on the Ministry and Dark Creature rights, and she seemed unsatisfied with their lack of knowledge on the matter.

“Shouldn’t you _know_ all this, since you qualify as Dark Creatures?” She asked with a huff, taking an angry bite out of her fifth piece of toast.

“I dunno, Hermione, should we?” Fred asked quite cheerfully. “Perce, you’re the know-it-all. Why don’t you have the answers to Hermione’s questions?”

Percy scowled at his brother. “I am not a walking encyclopedia.” He said tersely. “There is a library, I’m sure that will provide Hermione with ample access to the information she wants.”

Vampire Weasleys. What would the world come to? Next they were going to tell me they all supported Voldemort.

Oh…but… the thought had been a joke but now I recalled what Lucius had said about the Dark Lord gaining the support of the Dark Creatures.

“What about Voldemort?” I demanded abruptly, interrupting Fred’s animated argument with Percy. “Do you support him?”

“Well now,” George said with a mock-frown, “ickle firsties shouldn’t be saying that name. You might frighten the others.”

“The Dark Lord, then.” I snapped, and then, at Bill’s speculative eyebrow, “er, You-Know-Who.”

“Our family hasn’t chosen a side in the war,” Bill said delicately.

“Speak for yourself, brother,” Fred replied, throwing his arm over George’s shoulder, “but George – ”

“ – and I,” George added,

“Support Voldemort.” They said in unison.

Bill gave them a deeply irritated look. “You are _twelve_ , you do not support the _Dark Lord._ ” He hissed, sounding almost offended.

The twins exchanged a look. “Sure we do!” They chorused.

After a beat, Bill gave a defeated sigh. “Fine. The _reasonable_ members of this family haven’t chosen a side.”

“I support the Ministry’s decisions regarding the matter.” Percy replied, sounding almost bored, but there was a quirk to his lips that suggested he was hiding a smile.

Bill’s mouth flattened into an irritated line and he gave Percy a dirty look. “And I suppose you’ve got a side too, Charlie?”

“If You-Know-Who wins Dark Creatures rights, I can work with dragons.” Charlie said, as if the answer were perfectly obvious.

Bill looked disgusted. “Well. Fine. So much for being a neutral family.”

The rest of breakfast passed in awkward silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question - I have been adding appropriate character tags as they show up in the uploaded chapters. Should I also add AU tags such as Vampire Weasleys? And if I should, would you prefer ALL the changes I'm going to make tagged all at once, or for them to be added with the chapter they're relevant to?  
> Please let me know!


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